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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26599273">Ginny Weasley and the Hidden Knight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlanBryce/pseuds/AlanBryce'>AlanBryce</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ginny Weasley [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Beauxbatons, Canon Compliant, Dementors, F/F, F/M, Goblins, Hogwarts, Multi, Patronus Charm (Harry Potter), Post-Hogwarts, Pre-Epilogue, Time Turner (Harry Potter), Wandlore (Harry Potter)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 09:27:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>102,031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26599273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlanBryce/pseuds/AlanBryce</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series.  Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law.  Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye.  And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ginny Weasley [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787485</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Brave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>You are in a maze of twisty passages, all alike</em>, read Ginny Weasley.  <em>The walls are of stone, dry and close-fitting, and lit by flaming torches.  Nearby are dragons, goblins and experienced wizards.  </em></p><p>Somebody had a weird imagination, Ginny decided. </p><p>
  <em>Describe (a) the Concealment Charm, (b) the Bewilderment Charm and (c) the Secrecy Sensor you would use in this circumstance.  Invisibility cloaks are not to be used.  Fully describe the wand movements you would use for each Charm, in standard notation.  </em>
</p><p>She realised her left arm was wrapped secretively around her parchment as she wrote, which seemed strange as well.  Was that Professor Stonelake’s influence, or just thinking about Defence Against the Dark Arts?  Or the distraction of Arbroath Yaxley directly behind her?  He was one of several external entrants who had arrived at Hogwarts just before the exams started, and looked nothing like his grandfather Elgin: The older man was compact, heavy-featured, head held aggressively forward – while Arbroath was slender, if not much taller than his grandfather, handsome and smiling, and instead of those gimlet eyes, light blue ones that seemed to linger on Ginny at every opportunity.</p><p>She looked up at all the bent backs in front of her.  In the middle of the room she could see the white-blond hair of Draco Malfoy, head down over his desk.  What was <em>he</em> thinking?  About Lavender Brown, perhaps, in the opposite corner of the room to Ginny?  <em>She’d </em>changed, Ginny decided, out of all recognition.  Instead of the broad, self-indulgent features, surrounded by a cloud of light-brown frizzy hair – the face she’d seen in Draco’s memory, kissing him – the new Lavender was stick-thin, sunken-cheeked, wary-eyed.  Even her hair was darker now, and lank.  Were werewolves perpetually hungry? wondered Ginny.  Did they look around a room like this, and only see lunch?</p><p><em>Nearby</em>, wondered Ginny, her eyes back on her question paper.  <em>Nearby are dragons</em>…  What did that mean?  Would she be penalised for using an ordinary <em>Occulta </em>charm?  Were they looking for an <em>Abscondo</em> spell?  The question didn’t say anything about moving about…</p><p>Was Harry back from Poland yet?  What was <em>in</em> Poland, anyway, to keep him there?</p><p>She stabbed her quill in her inkpot and made herself answer the question.  <em>Occulta</em> <em>multis</em> might be unimaginative, but at least it didn’t look inept.  And she wasn’t sure whether <em>Conturba Consil </em>worked on goblins, either, but it would have to do…</p><p>Question Two was about identifying werewolves, ironically, which must be entertaining Lavender.  Or not.  Stonelake said the question nearly always came up, year after year.  Why were people so afraid of werewolves?  Had the kindly Lupin been the exception?  Was Lavender about to leap from her seat and rip out everyone’s throat?  Juliana Bonny must be sitting near her; Was Lavender eyeing up that slender neck of hers, even now?</p><p>Even so, a personal guard seemed overly cautious.  New Ministry regulations, Lavender had muttered, avoiding eye contact, although Ginny would have wagered that the new hungry, hardened Lavender would be able to tear out several throats before the young and gormless Auror even got to his feet.</p><p>
  <em>Question Three:  What signs would you look for to suggest the presence of a Death Eater in a nearby house?</em>
</p><p>Ginny wasn’t sure about that one; She decided to skip the question for now.  And the next one, about Statute of Secrecy limitations.  <em>What</em> limitations?</p><p>
  <em>Question Five:  How would you drive away a foraging Kappa, without drawing attention to yourself, or permanently injuring the Kappa?</em>
</p><p>That question hurt.  And wasn’t it too late, when Kappas went searching?  Only months ago, she had been throwing stones at a particularly persistent one, who wouldn’t leave the dead alone.  She made herself look up, at the bewitched ceiling – unremitting blue, at the moment – and then around at the other examinees, to steady herself.  If only Draco would turn around and look at her.  That would be a comfort.  But he wouldn’t, because he’d been told he’d be in trouble if their relationship became public.  <em>Coward</em>, she said to the back of his head.  So much for being a Death Eater.  He still had the tattoo; He was probably too scared to have it removed.  Maybe doing so was fatal, although he’d never said.  She rather liked it, strangely.  But what’s the point in dating a bad boy if he’s constantly worried about breaking the rules?</p><p>Ginny came back to reality with a guilty start.  Her fist was locked around her quill, crushing the feathering.  She looked up: The great hourglass at the front of the Great Hall was a third-empty now, and her heart lurched in guilt and horror.  She made herself concentrate…</p><p>
  <em>Question Six:  Describe the limitations of the Imperius Curse, and how these can be used to fight off its effects.</em>
</p><p>At least she could answer the second part of that question.  How much gap should she leave, in case inspiration struck about the first half?</p><p>Surely somebody must have refilled the hourglass with extra-slippery sand, it was running out so quickly…</p><p>Her answer to the final question (<em>Question Twenty-four:  List the five weakest points of a Giant</em>) was barely legible, as she raced the falling sand grains in the hourglass, but it would have to do…  She was scanning in dismay the questions she hadn’t managed to answer (<em>Question Twenty-one:  Describe the steps required to disguise yourself as a statue…</em>) when Professor Vector called time on the exam.  He was so quick to Summon the papers that she left a line of ink across her parchment, and from the moans of horror around her, she wasn’t the only one.</p><p>She was gathering up her quills and wastepaper when a shadow fell across her desk.  She didn’t bother looking up.</p><p>“How did you find it?” The worried tones of Andrew Kirke.  Her own personal mosquito.</p><p>“Enjoyed every minute,” she said shortly.</p><p>“No, seriously,” said Kirke, jerkily.  “Was it just me?  Some of those questions…”</p><p>“Not just you,” she managed, as she stood.  “It wasn’t easy.” </p><p>“That one about avoiding dragons…”</p><p>She would liked to have avoided Andrew too, but the crowd of chatting examinees in front of them, who were taking their time leaving the Great Hall and then outside into the hard sunlight, gave him every opportunity to plague her.  Her head was humming with tiredness. </p><p>“And the one about using Unforgivable Curses…” Kirke was still talking.  “Was that a trick question?”</p><p>There was no sign of a head of white hair amongst the crowd outside.  Draco was quite inventive in finding places to avoid being spied on; The search amused her, sometimes, but the idea of having to hunt him down right now, her head heavy with mental exertion, was merely an irritation.  She’d try Firenze’s classroom first…</p><p>“Hey!” said Kirke next to her.  “Where are you going?  Can I…?”</p><p>She twisted hurriedly, lost her footing and tumbled to the apparent forest floor of their old Divination teacher’s classroom.  She swore feelingly and climbed awkwardly to her feet.  Malfoy was there, which made her feel better, and he didn’t laugh uproariously at her landing:  She’d learned how unlike Draco was to Harry and her brothers, that he had no humour for pratfalls.  In fact he barely seemed to notice her arrival.  He was sitting against a tree, his arms around his knees, staring into space.</p><p>“Long day?” she asked, but her tone was jocose.  Surely this was their time now?</p><p>His head turned slowly to look at her.  “McGonagall came to see me,” he said, but then he was staring into nothing once more.</p><p>“About us?” she asked, fearfully.  It was hard sometimes to resist the temptation to reach out and touch him, even in public.</p><p>He shook his head, but there was another pause.  “She wanted to tell me about Goyle,” he said then.</p><p>She sat down inelegantly, next to him.  “What about him?” she asked.</p><p>“He’s dead,” he said.</p><p>She stiffened.  “Not…?”  <em>Not in the same way that your parents died</em>, she wanted to ask, but couldn’t.</p><p>She could see the pain and uncertainty in his eyes.  “<em>Avada Kedavra</em>,” he said.  “Along with his mother.  And there was a sign above their house.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?” she asked in horror.  “<em>Morsmordre…?”</em></p><p>“No,” he said.  “A phoenix.”</p><p>“Meaning what?” she asked in puzzlement.</p><p>“Dawlish is saying a group of vigilantes are targeting Death Eaters,” he said.  “So, your lot.”</p><p>“<em>My</em> lot?” she echoed, before light dawned.  “You mean, the <em>Order of the Phoenix</em>?  No way…”</p><p>“Why wouldn’t they?” Draco asked, listlessly.</p><p>Ginny was angry then.  “<em>Why</em>?  Because we risked our lives to <em>stop</em> people getting killed!  And who’s left in the Order now, anyway?  Apart from Mum and Dad?”</p><p>“Kingsley Shacklebolt,” said Draco, simply. </p><p>“What?  Ah, come on…  Why would he…?  This is just somebody causing trouble…”</p><p>“Trouble?” asked Draco, annoyed and upset.  “Goyle’s dead.  Or doesn’t that matter?”</p><p>“Of course it matters!” said Ginny, stung.  “But why start putting up signs?  They’re just incriminating Kingsley…”</p><p>“Of course,” said Draco, moodily.  “Poor Kingsley.  Goyle doesn’t count, does he?  And who’s going to care, if the winners start killing the losers?”</p><p>It was hard to argue with Draco when he was in this mood. </p><p>“So what’s McGonagall saying?” </p><p>“She says Dawlish couldn’t stop a Bowtruckle,” said Draco.  “Her words.  She says I need to take steps.”</p><p>“What steps?”</p><p>He shrugged, in the way that always annoyed her.  “Go into hiding,” he said.  “Don’t tell anyone where I’m going.  Including you.”</p><p>“<em>Including</em>…?  What’s she talking about?”</p><p>“She’s protecting you,” said Malfoy, matter-of-factly.</p><p>“I’m not leaving you,” she said, firmly.</p><p>“<em>You</em> can’t just disappear,” he said.</p><p>“Watch me,” said Ginny, annoyed.  “It’s not like I’ve got a job to go to.  Dawlish made sure of that.”</p><p>“What about the Delacours?” asked Draco.  “You said they had a job lined up for you if you wanted.”</p><p>“Total silence,” she shot back.</p><p>“But have you actually asked them?”</p><p>“I don’t want charity,” she said angrily.  “Just a job.”</p><p>Draco looked puzzled and exasperated.  “Such as what?”</p><p>“Don’t know.  How about a holiday in the meantime?”  She hadn’t meant to ask that.  She had no money of her own, and dragon’s breath would be sold as perfume before she asked her impoverished parents for a loan.  Draco surely had money, but she’d couldn’t ask…</p><p>“Hiding somewhere?” he said, sarcastically.  “In a cave?”</p><p>“It doesn’t have to be a cave.  Why can’t we hide somewhere with lots of Muggles?”</p><p>“Do you have any Muggle money?” he asked.  “Or know how Muggles pay for things?”</p><p>“No,” she admitted.  “I could ask Hermione…”</p><p>“Or Angharad,” he suggested with heavy irony.  “She’ll have lots of sensible ideas.”</p><p>“OK!” she shot back angrily.  “So it’s a stupid idea!  So come up with a better one!”</p><p>“A cave,” he repeated.  “One person only.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“That’s the choice,” said Malfoy.</p><p>“Wait!” she said suddenly.  “We go find the Giants and hire ourselves out to get rid of Dementors.  And ask the Goblins as well…”</p><p>“That doesn’t really count as hiding, Weasley!  How about an ad in the <em>Daily Prophet</em> while you’re at it?”</p><p>“So we’re going to leave the Giants in the dragon dung, are we?”</p><p>“No,” said Draco.  “<em>You</em> go and kill Dementors, <em>I’ll</em> hide.  You don’t need me there, as long as I stay alive.  Dan proved that.”</p><p>“His name’s Abraham,” she replied crossly.  “And he’s a first-year.  He’s too effing young!  I’m not risking anyone else!”</p><p>“Just me?”</p><p>“I didn’t mean that!  You know I didn’t mean that!”</p><p>Draco recoiled suddenly.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I know you didn’t.”</p><p>Which made her instantly angry.  “Stop doing that!” she snapped.  “Stop <em>apologising </em>the whole time!  I wish you’d <em>stick up</em> for yourself!”</p><p>But he still looked alarmed.  “Look, just hand the Demmy Slicer back to the Giants, and help them with <em>Expecto Patronum</em>…”</p><p>“So the Giants don’t matter either?” she shouted.  “Don’t <em>shush</em> me!  Have you seen that pair of Giant ghosts who keep following me around?”</p><p><em>“Following </em>you?”</p><p>“<em>Following</em> me,” she said, in fury.  “One big, one little.  They were the first pair of victims when Bragrak tried to save the world.  The Dementors picked on the little one.  He was just a kid.  And it was his big sister who tried to save his life, his soul, and she was the next to get it.  So they’re on my conscience as well.  As well as treading on my heels wherever I go.”</p><p>“I haven’t seen them…”</p><p>“That’s because they may be Giants, but they’re sensitive enough not to follow me into exams…”</p><p>“Well, this is a disappointment,” said another voice.</p><p>Ginny whipped around.  Leaning against the door, arms folded, was a lean figure.</p><p>“What are you doing here, Lavender?” Ginny asked, aggressively. </p><p>Lavender shrugged.  “I was hungry.”  Then she gave a staccato howl.  A laugh, Ginny realised.  “Your faces!  Particularly yours, Malfoy.”  Another howling laugh.  Ginny stole a look at his face, which was tense yet strangely blank.  “Don’t worry.  I’m not going to eat anybody.  It’s just that, when you’re hungry all the time, and you’re a werewolf, you need something to keep your mind off things.  Piece of advice:  If you don’t want people sneaking up on you, keep your voices down.  I could hear you from the other side of the castle.”</p><p>She pushed herself off the door and stepped towards them, consideringly.  She brushed her hand down the bark of a coarse-barked tree, then leaned against it, studying them.  “So,” she asked, “Is this the next chapter in the Potter-Malfoy war?  Or something else?  I suspect it’s something else.  Well, well.”</p><p>“Don’t go blabbing it about,” said Ginny, shortly.  “McGonagall doesn’t want anybody to know.”</p><p>“So it’s an <em>official</em> secret affair,” said Lavender with relish.</p><p>“What do you want?” snapped Ginny in annoyance.</p><p>Lavender stretched, and rubbed her back lazily against the tree.  “Just keep going with the argument.  Not quite what I was hoping for, but better than nothing.”</p><p>“We were just leaving,” said Draco, but he didn’t move.</p><p>Lavender pushed herself forward and stepped towards him.  “Liar,” she said.  Then she stepped closer still and squatted next to him.  “There’s an empty cell next to mine,” she whispered in his ear.  “Why aren’t you in it?”</p><p>“You’re in <em>Azkaban</em>?” asked Ginny in horror.</p><p>“Mmh,” said Lavender, still intent on Draco.  “For the crime of being bitten by Greyback.  While <em>this</em> one is wandering around loose.  I suppose some people always end up on top.”</p><p>“Did <em>Dawlish</em> put you there?”</p><p>“Among others,” agreed Lavender.  “I used to worry about being popular,” she mused, still studying Draco.  “Tried too hard, probably.  Life and soul… Chased the boys - How’s your brother, Ginny?  - And you know what?  Nowadays I couldn’t be less popular if I was a Dementor, but I just don’t care any more.”</p><p>“Isn’t McGonagall doing anything?” persisted Ginny.  “She got Draco out of there…”</p><p>Lavender abandoned her examination of Draco and turned her head towards Ginny with interest.  “Did she now?  Isn’t it <em>lucky</em> that Minerva isn’t afraid of anyone or anything?  Oh, except werewolves?”</p><p>“That won’t stop her,” said Ginny, weakly.  Was that true?</p><p>That howling laugh again…  “No,” agreed Lavender.  She sank to the ground, elegantly, crossed her legs and let the fingertips of both hands lightly explore the dry sandy soil.  “But it slows her down.  I got to sit my exams, because she was brave enough to let me come here.  I even got to stay nights, instead of going back to my cell every evening, because she <em>cares</em>.  But come tomorrow afternoon, as soon as the Transfiguration practical is over, I’ll be behind bars again.  A lifelong prisoner with indifferent-grade N.E.W.T.s.”  She lifted her hands ironically.  “All celebrate.  McGonagall’s job is done.”</p><p>“They’re going to <em>keep</em> you there?” asked Ginny, aghast.  “They can’t do that!”</p><p>“Who’s going to stop them?”  Her eyes were back on Malfoy.</p><p>“What about your parents?”</p><p>“Muggles, remember?  Which is - wow! - <em>two</em> good reasons to keep me in jail.  Muggle-born, <em>and</em> a werewolf!  Just doing everybody a favour, yeah?”  Her jocose air disappeared.  “And my parents are scared solid.  Of me.  They’re not saying anything, but I can see it in their eyes.  Terrified I’ll bite them.  Or the neighbours.”</p><p>“Lavender, I’m so sorry…”</p><p>“Weasley, say that again and I’ll tear your throat out,” said Lavender, evenly.  “And I’m not joking, OK?”</p><p>“OK, but…”</p><p>“I shouldn’t have come back,” said Lavender.  “I was just getting used to the idea of being in a cell all my life.  But who’s going to turn down the opportunity for some fresher air?  And smell something better than a pair of warders and Tobias in the cell next to me?  Who never smells great, believe me.”</p><p>Lavender’s howling laugh filled the room.  Ginny could hear rapid steps outside and the door slammed open.  The young Auror was framed in the doorway.  “Brown,” he said unsteadily.  “Back to your room.  Now…”</p><p>Lavender got to her feet in a single movement and turned towards him in fury.  Ginny was convinced she was going to attack him, and the Auror too stepped back in fear, but then Lavender relaxed and walked slowly to the door.  She turned and looked at them both.</p><p>“I thought courage was about turning out to fight Voldemort, and expecting to die.”  She shook her head.  “Then I realised that true courage is facing a lifetime in Azkaban, without even Dementors for entertainment.  Turns out I have that kind of courage too.”  She walked out of the room, and with a hurried glance at the pair of them, the Auror followed her.</p><p>Ginny found it hard to breathe.  She turned towards Draco.</p><p>“There’s nothing you can do,” he said, flatly.</p><p>“But she’s <em>innocent</em>!”</p><p>“She’s guilty of being a werewolf,” he said.  “Which gives her less chance of a fair trial than me.”</p><p>“You’re not on trial, and neither’s she!  They just put her in a <em>cell</em>…”</p><p>“Ginny, she realises!” said Draco, with urgent anger.  “She’s not fighting it!  She knows she has to be locked up!”</p><p>“Lupin wasn’t locked up…!”</p><p>“Only because Dumbledore protected him.  Because Dumbledore wasn’t afraid of werewolves, and it sounds like McGonagall is.  Like most people.”</p><p>“Like you, I suppose!”</p><p>“I’m afraid of her,” agreed Draco.  “Yes.”</p><p>“You can’t keep everybody in jail because people are <em>afraid </em>of them!”</p><p>“Yes, you can.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Portkey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Room of Requirements was a disturbing place, Ginny decided, particularly in its current form.</p><p>Any place that read one’s mind, and fulfilled one’s dreams, was unsettling, of course, but it wasn’t just that.</p><p>Ordinarily, you had to stand outside the Room and ask it three times for what you wanted, and then – if it could help you - the door would appear, and inside was what you needed.  But when she and Draco approached the room together – they had to make sure no-one was watching - the door would appear automatically, and the room would be ready for them.  Which worried Ginny, when she let it.</p><p>As did the bathroom, for different reasons: The door was right next to - and on the same wall as - the door into the corridor, which meant that the bathroom, even though it seemed solid enough, was really out on the seventh-floor landing.  That didn’t seem to worry the Room of Requirements, but she kept expecting the walls to disappear whenever she was in there.</p><p>Plus the fact that you only had to mention food, or being hungry, for a trolley of food, covered in a white cloth, to appear in the room with a faint rattle.</p><p>“You don’t think they’re listening, do you?” she’d asked Draco, worried.  “In the kitchens?”</p><p>“No…” he’d said dismissively.</p><p>“We just mention food, and it turns up!”</p><p>“They’re just house-elves,” Draco had said.</p><p>“Need to work on your attitude, Malfoy,” she’d said, uncertainly.</p><p>The books were disturbing, too.  She was delighted to see a familiar bookshelf in the Room, the one with all the books about defensive spells and curses that had been so helpful at the time of Dumbledore’s Army, but these books were different, and she’d slammed the first one shut, her face flaming, as soon as she’d seen what was inside.</p><p>And the paintings…  Strangely, they didn’t seem to move, which was a relief when their subjects were mostly unclothed girls.  But she was sure she heard giggles and other sounds from the paintings when she was dozing in Draco’s arms.</p><p>The wardrobe was a man’s world, too:  It merely held two dressing gowns, one short, one long.  One dressing gown was white and fluffy, and far too long for her.  The other was silky and patterned, barely skimmed her bottom, and was cut wide across the lapels to show as much of her breasts as possible. </p><p>And the rocking horse worried her.  She still hadn’t dared ask Draco what <em>that</em> was for, because she couldn’t trust his sense of humour. </p><p>He was very different now, either because of what they’d both seen in each other’s minds, or what had followed.  There was a confidence and sense of fun in him now.</p><p>Even while his bad boy aura still clung to him.</p><p> </p><p>She turned over and kissed him briefly.  “We need to go,” she said to him. </p><p>Lazily, he reached out a hand to pull her head down to his, and kissed her more thoroughly. </p><p>She pulled her head back.  “Oh, a fully-reasoned answer,” she said.</p><p>”What’s your reason, then?” he asked.</p><p>“I’m hungry,” she said, climbing out of the huge bed.</p><p>“I don’t need to watch you eat, Weasley,” he said, closing his eyes.  “I trust you.”</p><p>“Should I trust <em>you</em>?” she shot back.  “I saw Lavender looking at you,” she said playfully.  He was a good-looking bad boy, after all.</p><p>“Long time ago,” he said, lazily.</p><p>“<em>What</em> was a long time ago?” demanded Ginny, startled.  But she was seeing Draco’s memory now, remembering the old Lavender kissing him.</p><p>“She’s changed,” he said.  He still had his eyes closed. </p><p>“Well, being a werewolf…”</p><p>“Not that,” he said.</p><p>She wrapped her arms around her chest, ignoring the rest.  She was disturbed now.  “You mean her figure,” she said flatly.  He didn’t reply.  “Like them skinny, do you?” she asked, pointedly.</p><p>He opened his eyes then and looked at her in puzzlement.  “Are you looking for compliments now?” he asked.</p><p>“No,” she said.  “I’m just…”</p><p>He closed his eyes.  “If you want reassurance, just get back into bed,” he said.</p><p> “After lunch,” she said, gratified and relieved.  She reached for his arm and tugged at him.  “Because in that case you’re going to need something to eat as well.”</p><p>“So romantic,” he growled, but he was getting up.</p><p>As soon as she was dressed, she twisted down to the Great Hall, leaving Draco to make his own way down, so they wouldn’t be seen together.  Lunch was already on the tables, but she had barely swung her legs over a Gryffindor bench and reached out to a plate piled with food when she heard McGonagall’s voice behind her.</p><p>“Ginny,” said the Headmistress.  “A word, please.”</p><p>Ginny turned in irritation, her fingers barely an inch from a pork pie, and was surprised to see Professor Flitwick standing there too, fidgeting uncertainly.  “Who has the Demmy Slicer?” demanded McGonagall.  “You or Draco?”</p><p>“I have it,” answered Ginny.  “It’s in my trunk.  What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Fetch it, please.”</p><p>“Now?” asked Ginny.  She hadn’t eaten anything yet.</p><p>“Now, please.  And we will need Mr Malfoy…”</p><p>“Draco?  Has there been a Dementor attack?”</p><p>Flitwick was about to say something, but McGonagall put out a calming hand.  “Not yet,” she said.  “But the Dementors have discovered where an entire Goblin tribe is hiding, and they are flocking there.  The Goblins are perfectly safe, but they are trapped, and they are running perilously short of food.  I’m sorry, Ginny.  I was hoping to hold this off until your exams were finished.  I have no desire to trespass on your revision time, but I’m given no choice.”</p><p>Ginny was about to say something about her own plans for the rest of the day, which mostly involved Draco, when McGonagall overrode her.  “Quickly, Ginny!”</p><p>Ginny sighed crossly, stood abruptly and twisted.  It took her barely a minute to dig out the Demmy Slicer from beneath the discard pile of textbooks in her trunk, but by the time she returned to the Great Hall there was an argument in full flight between McGonagall and Draco.  </p><p>Flitwick intercepted her as she tried to overhear what they were saying.  “Give me the dagger!” he said. </p><p>“Why?” asked Ginny, puzzled and distracted.</p><p>“That was here!” Draco was saying.  “That was a crowd of people being attacked.  Not a bunch of Goblins missing their lunch.”</p><p>Flitwick produced his wand, waved it, and the Demmy Slicer glowed briefly.  “It will take you straight there…” he said.</p><p>“There’s no difference,” McGonagall was saying in annoyance.  “We’re talking about an entire tribe!”</p><p>Ginny was quickly angry.  “A <em>crowd</em>?” she put in.  “Are you looking for an admiring audience, Draco?” she demanded.</p><p>“No!” said Draco. “For a herd of Goblins?  Find somebody else.”</p><p>“The Goblins are our firm allies…” McGonagall began.</p><p>“You selfish git,” said Ginny loudly, glaring at Draco.</p><p>He coloured and grew angry in his turn.  “Am I the only sensible one here?” he asked heatedly.  “You play the hero if you want.  Leave me out of it.”  Pointedly, he reached for a leg of chicken, but before he had chance to take a bite Ginny had snatched it out of his hand and thrown it.  It would have hit the head of a Ravenclaw third-year boy, if he hadn’t been earwigging the argument, and dodged.</p><p>“Ginny!” said McGonagall in annoyance, and Ginny was about to argue with her as well when a voice came from behind her.</p><p>“Draco doesn’t have to go,” said Lavender.  “I’ll do it.”</p><p>Ginny turned angrily.  “Keep out of this!” she snapped.</p><p>“Why?” demanded Lavender.  “If Draco doesn’t want to?”</p><p>“You can’t go anywhere,” said Ginny.  “What about your guard?”</p><p>Lavender hitched a thumb over her shoulder.  “He’s guarding a cream cake at the moment.”  Everyone turned to look, and in that distracted instant Lavender grabbed the Demmy Slicer that Flitwick was holding out to Ginny - and Ginny as well.</p><p>The Great Hall disappeared, and in a blast of light they were tumbling across a rocky hillside.</p><p>Ginny used all her strength to wrench the dagger away from Lavender, but the latter suddenly let go, twisted lithely to her feet and looked down at her, a crooked smile on her face.   </p><p>“What the…?” exclaimed Ginny.</p><p>“I decided I needed a holiday,” said Lavender.</p><p>“Holiday?” echoed Ginny, sitting up and looking around her, bemused.</p><p>“Do you know where we are?” asked Lavender.</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“Nor me.  I’m guessing it’s knee-deep in Dementors, though.  But it beats Azkaban.”</p><p>The thought of Dementors nearby made Ginny push herself to her feet, still unsure.  They were in mountains, on a steep rocky slope near the top of a narrow ridge.  The slope below them soon plunged disturbingly into a deep valley – a ravine – heavily shadowed in the bright sun.  She watched Lavender lope quickly up the hillside, drop to the ground at the top, and cautiously eel her way out of sight.  Ginny turned and peered downwards, gingerly.  She could see occasional flashes of reflected sunlight from a young river that tumbled along the bottom of the gorge.  A natural bridge crossed the ravine – a pile of huge rocks had tumbled against each other, and were poised above the yawning drop.  Hopefully they didn’t need to go that way.</p><p>Lavender reappeared, running lightly down the rocky slope towards Ginny.  “Nothing there,” she said in a low voice.  “Let’s try the other side…”</p><p>“No…” started Ginny, but Lavender skipped down the bare hillside until she reached the rock bridge.  She stepped lightly across the huge wedged rocks.  Ginny winced at the sight, but the rocks didn’t seem to notice Lavender, and she was loping up the far side.  There were some stunted bushes there, and she disappeared amongst them as she climbed.</p><p>The silence seemed total.  Just some distant high-pitched bird calls, way above her.  There was no wind.</p><p>A skittering noise…  Here came Lavender, dancing down the slope towards her.  She stopped at the far side of the rock bridge and beckoned urgently, the upraised finger of her other hand to her lips.</p><p>Ginny really didn’t care for the idea.  She wasn’t keen on heights, she wasn’t greatly into trust, and she wholeheartedly didn’t have confidence in the rock bridge.  Lavender beckoned to her impatiently.  But she wasn’t calling out to her, which had to mean something.  Ginny took some uneven breaths, pushed the dagger into her robe pocket and clambered down to the rock bridge.  She put her foot gingerly onto the first snagged rock, a slab a dozen feet wide poised above hundreds of feet of nothing, and stepped nervously across it, her skin crawling. </p><p>The next rock was a smaller, rounder boulder, trapped by the huger ones.  She reached out her hands to help her clamber over this and onto the next boulder, huger than the first.  Suddenly the rocks jolted beneath her feet, there was a rumbling, scraping sound, then a louder rumble, and the bridge started to slide into the ravine.  She didn’t hesitate.  Moaning with fear, she scrambled across the moving boulders, monkey-like, launched herself at the solid rocks next to Lavender, and as she hit the other side the rock bridge was falling.</p><p>“Hurry!” hissed Lavender, pulling violently at her arm.  Ginny wrenched her eyes away from the falling boulders and followed Lavender up the slope.  When they reached the top, Lavender was making a patting motion with her hand – keep down, in other words.  The pair of them crawled forwards, and Ginny could see down into the next valley, which was as steep-sided as the previous one.</p><p>Ginny tried to hold her breath.  Clusters of Dementors covered every outcrop of the ravine below them, and suddenly she felt sick.</p><p>There was a rumbling, endless crash behind them.  Had it taken that long for the rock bridge to hit the bottom?  She shivered at the thought.  <em>Why didn’t I Apparate?  Was I just trying to show off?</em></p><p>Dozens of Dementors were lifting into the air, and she was dragging her wand out of her pocket in panic. </p><p>“<em>Expecto Patronum</em>!” she screamed.  She could feel the Patronus leaving her wand, and see the welcome sight of her huge silvery rhinoceros, as it streaked across the ravine.  It veered sharply and soared beneath their feet, along the valley, still above the rising Dementors.  She heard the thudding sound of the Dementors’ alarm call as their black shapes headed down the narrow valley, to where it spilled out into the bigger valley to their right.  She had to use her wand to steer her rhino to cut them off, and the Dementors flew back towards them like a dark swarm of insects.  It was hard not to flinch.</p><p>She twitched as she felt something at her waist:  Lavender was delving into her pocket for the Demmy Slicer.  Ginny wanted to stop her, but what choice had she? </p><p>And Ginny couldn’t have done what Lavender did.  With the dagger held high, Lavender danced down the precipitous slope towards the seething swarm of Dementors, and then she was slashing the dagger across them, and back.</p><p>Ginny could hear the pulsing alarm call of the Dementors, much louder now, and she felt savage joy at the sight of black mist spraying around Lavender, as the werewolf sliced at every Dementor she could reach.  Ginny looked on in wonder as the cloud of Dementors diminished.  Lavender was dancing over a small outcrop on the edge of nothing, seemingly weightless, as she swung the Demmy Slicer through Dementor after Dementor.  She showed no regard for the vertiginous drop close to her feet as she darted back and forth, totally intent on the slaughter. </p><p>The remaining groups of Dementors were abandoning the outcrops they’d clung to, and Ginny could see clouds of them rising into the air, climbing the valley now, trying to escape, and she used her wand to drag her silver rhino round to cut them off, and drive them towards Lavender, as the Demmy Slicer carved through ever more of them.  Ginny brought her rhino down further now, pushing the countless Dementors closer to Lavender. </p><p>But not close enough.  As she watched, Lavender recklessly swung at a Dementor hovering in the air above nothing at all, and she was overbalancing, and then she was falling, and disappearing into the ravine…</p><p>“Lavender!” Ginny screamed, instinctively.  What spell should she use?  Something made her shout “<em>Accio</em> <em>Lavender</em>!”  Would that work?  A fast-moving shape came over the edge of the outcrop, and she had to dive out of the way as Lavender’s sprawling figure tumbled past her, barely missing her.  Then Ginny found she was sliding down the smooth rock, towards the edge, and only just managed to grab something on the edge of nothing at all.</p><p>Her Patronus had gone!  The Dementors were billowing upwards now, escaping.  Her left hand was locked in a claw, preventing herself sliding any further, as she shouted the spell.  But only sparks appeared.  She had to forget the yawning void beneath her, and think of Harry.  And Fawkes coming to rescue them…</p><p>“<em>Expecto Patronum</em>!” she screamed.  Her rhino sprang into life from her wand, just as something grabbed her left hand, jolting her, but it was Lavender, clamping her hand against the rock, and she could steer the rhinoceros upwards, above the black cloud of Dementors, and drive them downwards once more.</p><p>Lavender was pulling at her hand, dragging her physically up the slope.  Such strength and determination… Was there anything left of the old Lavender now?  Except the bravery she’d always had?</p><p>Ginny pushed herself to her feet, urgently, and there was time for nothing more than a nod between them. Lavender was dancing across the rocks again, slashing the Demmy Slicer at the herded Dementors with such elegant ferocity.</p><p>Most of the Dementors were gone, now…  She had to dive the rhino to the bottom of the valley, scouring the remaining flocks of Dementors upwards, closer to Lavender, and then wrenched her arm dragging her rhino upwards, to stop the Dementors escaping in that direction. </p><p>The grisly herding and killing seemed to go on for an eternity, but at last there were none in sight.  But she needed to be sure:  She had to check the rockface immediately below them.  She had to nerve herself to Apparate to a near-horizontal spot on the other side of the valley.  She cried out as she fell out of the spin, but her clawing hands and scrabbling legs stopped her sliding down the slope.  She struggled to her feet, peering down into the valley, heedless now of the dizzying drop, but she could see no trace of any Dementors.</p><p>She could see Lavender on the far side of the valley fall to her knees. Only the white mist was left now, spiralling upwards around her, then splitting, and falling around them, while slender lines of white headed for the horizon.</p><p>It was hard then to make herself Apparate back to Lavender’s side of the ravine, onto a mild slope, but she still lurched with fear and tumbled over as she landed.  But she didn’t slide any further, and she made herself stand, her legs weak now.  Lavender pushed herself to her feet and clambered tiredly up the slope towards her. </p><p>“Thanks,” said Ginny.  She doubted she would have had the courage to do what Lavender had.  And on her own, against an army of Dementors, she would never have succeeded, and would probably have fallen to her death. </p><p>“You saved my life,” said Lavender.  “Such as it is.”  She held out the Demmy Slicer. </p><p>Ginny was about to take it, but then she changed her mind.  “Keep it,” she said.  “You did great today.  And Draco was never that keen on having it, to be honest.”</p><p>Lavender’s mouth was a wry smile.  “And he needs looking after, does he?” she said.  “A Death Eater?”</p><p>Ginny shook her head.  “No,” she said.  “But you don’t deserve to be in Azkaban either.  You’ve proved that.”</p><p>“Don’t go back, you mean?” asked Lavender, uncertainly.  “And go where?”</p><p>Ginny shrugged.  “Chase some Dementors.  With me,” she suggested.  “Then wherever you like.”</p><p>Lavender was suddenly still.</p><p>“No,” she said eventually, and made to return the dagger to Ginny, but Ginny shook her head.  “Let’s go and check on these Goblins,” she said. </p><p>She took Lavender’s arm, and they were spinning, into the darkness at the bottom of the ravine.  As they appeared next to the tumbling river, Ginny looked up, and the precipitous side of the valley looked almost vertical.  How had they survived?  There were still white figures falling around them, human-sized some of them, but many smaller, and some huge.</p><p>Where were the Goblins?  Ginny realised that there was a pile of rocks against one side of the valley, paler that the rest.  A rockfall, she decided.  Her arm was sore now as she raised her wand once more to lift the boulders, but another strangeness:  As the boulders lifted, they seemed to grow spherical, and floated upwards.  When they touched the rock of the valley sides, they disappeared, suddenly, popping like soap bubbles.  Goblin magic, or something else?</p><p>She could see a doorway now, wide yet low, and two massive doors – they were bronze, she decided – were pivoting open.  Small figures were appearing between them, hurrying towards them.  Then a Goblin was wrapping his arms around her middle and squeezing her, to her amazement, and other Goblins were surrounding her, reaching out to her, buffeting her.  She could see Lavender being mobbed as well.</p><p>They were pushed towards the bronze doors.  She ducked instinctively as she was shoved beneath the lintel.</p><p>The caves inside were smooth-sided and hugely tall.  She could stand properly now, and look around her in wonder.  Water had created this, she realised, water that must have eventually smoothed the broad passageway through the rock.  But there were countless side-passages, which must have been man-made.  Goblin-made, she corrected herself.  The pair of them were hurried downwards, and the walls grew apart until they were in a cave twice the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, hugely high, containing a throng of small cheering figures reaching out to them.  At the end, against a huge decorated bronze wall, a small group of Goblins awaited them. </p><p>There were speeches then, but entirely in the Goblin language, and the whole time Goblins were continually swarming up to her, thumping her chest with their fists, and hugging her again.  Lavender reached her side at last, and was being hugged too.</p><p>When the speeches had ended, and everyone was talking, a smaller figure stepped forward, grinned ferociously at Ginny, and hugged her. </p><p>“Thank you,” the Goblin said, “For clearing my father’s name.”</p><p>“Your…?”  But then Ginny recognised her.  Bragrak’s daughter, who had wanted to bargain the Demmy Slicer for a wizard’s wand, but who had then simply given her the dagger.  “Shor…?”</p><p>“Shorgak,” said the Goblin, but didn’t seem offended. </p><p>“Shorgak gave us the Demmy Slicer,” Ginny explained to Lavender.  She turned back to Shorgak.  “Do you want it back now?” she asked, unsure.</p><p>Shorgak’s expression was hard to read.  “When all the Dementors have gone,” she said. </p><p>“<em>All</em> of them?” queried Ginny.  “That’ll be a while yet.”</p><p>“Perhaps by then,” said Shorgak, “I will have a wand as well.  Then we can meet as equals.”</p><p>“Equals?” put in Lavender.  “Seriously?”</p><p>Shorgak’s face fell.  “It is a dream,” she said, shortly.</p><p>“Lavender didn’t mean…” began Ginny, embarrassed, but Lavender waved her down.</p><p>“No offence,” she said.  “Because I’m not equal either.”</p><p>“Meaning what?” asked Shorgak in puzzlement.</p><p>“I’m a werewolf,” said Lavender, bluntly. </p><p>Shorgak looked worried and took an involuntary step backwards.</p><p>“I’m not going to eat you,” said Lavender, calmly.  “Not a full moon quite yet.  And by then I’ll be back in Azkaban.”</p><p>Ginny turned to her in surprise.  “But you don’t have to go back now!  You can…” she started.</p><p>“Be a fugitive instead?” finished Lavender.  Her expression was unreadable.  “Dawlish put me in Azkaban because people were afraid of me.  Because everyone’s afraid of me.”</p><p>“I’m not…” began Ginny heatedly.</p><p>“Apart from a few fools,” said Lavender, overriding her.  “And <em>I’m</em> afraid.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” asked Shorgak, still looked hunted.</p><p>“I’m safe enough in Azkaban.  If I turn werewolf in my cell, nobody’s going to get hurt.  Apart from me.  But if Ginny here gets her way, I’ll be out in the wild.  Sure, I’d like that.  I’d like to be free.  I’d try to behave myself, too, and keep away from people when I transformed.  But how long would I be on my own, before I didn’t care any more?”</p><p>“Of course you would,” said Ginny.</p><p>“You don’t know that,” said Lavender.  “<em>I</em> don’t know that.”</p><p>“So are you going to hand yourself in?  No!”</p><p>Lavender turned to Shorgak.  “If <em>you</em> had a wand,” she asked, “What would you do with it?”</p><p>Shorgak stared at her in shock.  Her eyes went to Ginny, and then back to Lavender, studying her.  “You do not value it,” she suggested.  “Because you are used to wands.”</p><p>“Not true,” said Lavender.  “With a wand, I could escape anywhere.  I could stay free.  If anyone tried to attack me, I could defend myself.  Life would be easy, with a wand.  But I’d be permanently scared.  Scared of what I might do.  And what’s freedom really worth, at the end of the day?”</p><p>“Everything,” said Shorgak.</p><p>“But if I don’t want freedom?” said Lavender. </p><p>Something strange was happening:  A line of Goblins marched towards the front of the cavern, past the Goblins who had been speaking, and they were pushing at the bronze wall – which parted in the middle.  Most of the wall was a pair of huge doors, she realised, and the assembled might of the line of Goblins heaved them back against the sides of the cavern.  There was a surge of movement, and Ginny and Lavender were swept through the doors.  Ginny turned back, and could see Shorgak, unmoving, as Goblins crowded past her.  Another great cavern was beyond the first, but this one was decorated – painted in many colours with designs that climbed the walls vertiginously.  There were wide, shallow steps at the end of the cavern, and beyond that… a wall covered in circles, all different sizes.  These were decorated too, and Ginny found herself screwing up her eyes to work out what she was seeing. </p><p>Hands were pushing her forward, and Lavender too, and then taking their hands, and leading them up the steps. </p><p>Ginny cried out in surprise when the steps moved below her feet, but <em>backwards</em>, slowly at first, then more quickly as more of the crowd reached and mounted the steps.  Up ahead, she could see more steps appearing from the top, and she could hear air moving, a loud hissing, breathing sound.  At the top of the steps was a pair of low doors, much smaller than the ones they’d just passed through, surrounded by the strange circles.  A handful of Goblins hurried up the steps ahead of them and pulled the doors open.</p><p><em>Where are we going now?</em> she wondered.  The front row, including Ginny and Lavender, were near the top of the steps now, yet with the crowd all around them the steps were moving faster.  Were they going to have to run to keep up?</p><p>But these doors didn’t lead to another room:  Behind them was a wide plank seat, and beyond that a wall of endless buttons.  Several of the Goblins sat down, their hands came out and she could see them… doing something… and talking busily to each other.</p><p>She was totally unprepared for what happened next.  Several of the circles in the huge wall above her swung open, and a blast of sound assailed her ears.  Then different circles flipped open, and the sound changed.</p><p>Music…</p><p>It wasn’t a tune she recognised, and the notes were strange.  The wall of circles, and the buttons, were an enormous pipe organ.  She realised that the steps were somehow driving the organ.  Still, it was another surprise when the Goblins around them began to sing.  A slow song, yet a cheerful one.  Now that the steps were full, it was no huge effort to continually walk up the steps – it felt as if they were springy and soft – and it was stimulating to be ever climbing upwards, taking part in this performance.  Or hymn?  She started to hear the pattern after a while, and could enjoy the music flowing around her.  There was an eddying breeze from the open circles in front of her, which kept her refreshingly cool.  She turned to look at Lavender, who looked back at her and shook her head in bemusement.</p><p>The music slowed, and stopped, but everyone kept marching upwards.  No, not everyone - She turned to look, wobbling slightly, and could see that most of the Goblins were standing below the steps, looking up at them.  Several waved, and it seemed churlish not to wave back, so she did so, feeling idiotic.</p><p>Another blast of music; Another hymn?  But this was faster, and catchy, and then she realised she knew the tune, except that some notes were a little strange.  What…?  The new music was louder, more strident, more rhythmic, and from somewhere there were drumming sounds, deep, satisfying, chest-filling beats.  Then the sound was louder still, almost too loud, there was cold air all around her, and she was hearing the chorus of a song she knew really well. </p><p>The Weird Sisters.  The song was Let Me Closer… </p><p>Her feet were stepping in time now, marching ever upwards.  The chorus led to the next verse, slightly quieter, and her mind was starting to produce the words of the song.  <em>…Just a thing I need to say…  As I see you turn to go…  </em></p><p>Here came the chorus again, and she was singing:</p><p>
  <em>“Let me closer, let me stay, Let me show you…”</em>
</p><p>Lavender was laughing, next to her, and Goblin hands were patting her back.  When she turned, she could see the Goblins were dancing as they climbed, and gesturing towards her.  They wanted her to sing…  She could hear Lavender joining in as well, her voice hoarse and uncertain at first, and Ginny was singing more loudly now.</p><p>“<em>Let me clo-o-o-o-o-o-ser</em>!”  she yodelled.  “<em>Let me sta-a-a-a-a-a-ay!”</em></p><p>Here was the verse again; Oh, no, what were the words…?</p><p>“<em>Da-da-da…  I saw you there…  di-da-da-da… I knew I should… something…”</em></p><p>A bunch of Goblins to her left were moving differently…  These were smaller Goblins – Young ones?  Female ones? – and their steps were more rhythmic as they stepped upwards…  An urgent, complex dance…  Her calves were hurting now… Some of them were turning around and stepping backwards, and she had to try…  Walking backwards upstairs was difficult, and she tripped several times.  Lavender grabbed her arm after the first one, and Ginny was wobbling as she kept trying, but she caught the trick of it eventually, and then she was persuading Lavender to turn around as well.  Now she was steadying Lavender, as <em>she</em> staggered, and they were both laughing as they tried to copy the steps of the Goblins.  She could see the crowd of Goblins at the bottom of the steps grinning up at them, their hands over their heads, clapping, and dancing too.</p><p>“<em>Let me sta-a-a-a-a-a-y!”</em></p><p>It was a huge disappointment when the song ended, although her legs were clamouring for rest by now.  Someone grabbed her hand and was pulling at her, backwards, and she was standing above the moving stairs now, groaning with pleasure now her legs could stop their ceaseless climbing.  There was a stirring in the crowd below, and Goblins were moving down the steps, and she assumed everything was finishing now, but others were climbing the steps in their places, fresher ones, and there was a blast of sound right behind her, and a cool breeze rushing past her, and another tune, even louder now.</p><p>She recognised this tune as well.  <em>Better than before</em>.  More Weird Sisters!  The different scale gave the tune a tormenting sweetness.  A pattern was emerging on the steps below her, a more organised dance, fun to watch, too, as she strained to remember the new words.</p><p>The Goblins produced food, pungent and unrecognisable.  Ginny shook her head as she sang – she couldn’t have eaten, not now – but she saw Lavender sampling - and then wolfing - hunks of meat that willing hands pressed on her.  Someone was wrapping Ginny’s fingers around a hugely ornate goblet, containing wild and fierce Goblin wine, laced with herbs, which she drank, tipping the goblet back to empty it, and then the goblet was refilled.  Her head was already whirring, and she put her hand over the top of the goblet to prevent them filling it further, but they continued to pour wine over her fingers, and she could laugh then, and lick her fingers, and drink, and laugh once more as she shook her head and put the goblet down on the organ seat, between two Goblins intent on the keys in front of them.</p><p>Some of the other Goblins spoke English – she hadn’t realised until now that many didn’t – but it was hard in the noise and confusion to understand what they were saying, and she could only keep smiling and shake her head.  It was easier to step down on to the moving stairs once more, her legs less tired now, and sing - bellow, really - and dance.</p><p>Someone was talking loudly in her ear, and it was helpful to put her hand out to his – her? – shoulder and lean on them, which made it easier to dance, too. </p><p>“I need to talk to you!” said the someone.  Shorgak, she realised.</p><p>“Later,” Ginny said.  “Not yet…”</p><p>Music she didn’t know; The beat was strange, the harmony stabbing at her ears.  Goblin music?  But someone was showing her how to dance the steps, and she was laughing, and they were laughing too.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Spell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was a loud voice in her ear, one she didn’t recognise, and even the words were hard to understand.</p><p>“Ginny?  Ginny!  Wake up!  You need to wake up!”</p><p>Her mind managed to snare the last word.  “Up?” she croaked.  Was that enough?  Could she go back to sleep now?</p><p>“<em>Wake up</em>!  Ginny!”</p><p>“I’m Ginny…”</p><p>“Come on!  You need to get up!”</p><p>She knew the voice now.  Shorgak.  She forced her eyes open, and the Goblin was there, floating annoyingly in her eyes.  “Keep still,” she muttered, but Shorgak’s face continued to wobble across her vision.  Ginny closed her eyes again.</p><p>“No!” Shorgak was shouting.  “Try standing!”</p><p>“Standing,” muttered Ginny.  There was a hand on her arm now, dragging at her.  “Gerroff…” she said, but it was easier to cooperate, to heave herself upright, to stop the noise in her ear.  “What time is it?” she asked then.</p><p>“Time?” echoed Shorgak, uncertainly.  “The sun has risen…”</p><p>Time…  Ginny’s eyes didn’t want to cooperate, and nor did her arm, but she managed to catch a glimpse of her watch.  A second try, and she gathered it was half-past four, just about.  What did that mean?</p><p>“Half-four,” she muttered.  Was that good?  She risked another look at Shorgak, who wasn’t jumping about so much now.  A creeping realisation swept across her, unpleasantly.  “Exam.”  That meant something.  “Need to get back.  For test.  Transf…  Transf…”  But she grew weary before she could get to the end of the word.  “Exam.”  That was easier.  “Where’s Lavender?”</p><p>Shorgak’s face was still now, hardened. Like a painting.  Why was she so still?</p><p>“You’re leaving?” asked Shorgak eventually.  “What happens now?  What if the Dementors come back?”</p><p>Ginny remembered Lavender now, dancing without music in the slanting sunlight, the dark shadows  of the Dementors about her, the gleaming blade in her hand.</p><p>It was still a struggle to talk.  “Send,” Ginny managed to say eventually.  “Send a message.”</p><p>“It could be too late by then,” said Shorgak, coldly.  “Don’t you have a spell to cure the drink?” she asked, impatiently. </p><p>Ginny reached out a hand to the Goblin’s jacket and latched onto it.  That felt… safer.  “No,” she said.  “Not a spell.  A potion.  Not here.”  Shorgak fought her off, with difficulty.</p><p>Somehow she was Ginny again, not just someone called Ginny.  “We have to get back,” she said, more certainly.  Had she done any revision for Transfiguration yet?  It was hard to remember.</p><p>Here was Lavender, fast asleep on the cavern floor, curled up, dog like.  “Lavender!” Ginny shouted down at her.  “Get up!  We’re going!”  The werewolf’s eyes snapped open, her head came up.</p><p>Shorgak snorted impatiently, and her long finger came out and pointed at Lavender.  “<em>She</em> said she was lucky to reach here this time!” she said, suddenly angry.</p><p>“We need to get back,” Ginny repeated.  Lavender was climbing to her feet, tiredly.  Was she as intoxicated as Ginny?</p><p>“Because Goblins don’t matter,” Shorgak was saying, in annoyance.  “You’ve had your fun, killing Dementors.  On to the next <em>party</em>!” she spat, angrily.</p><p>“Got to go,” Ginny mumbled for the benefit of Shorgak and Lavender. </p><p>“You’re leaving us,” said Shorgak, her voice full of contempt.  “Is that all the help we get?”</p><p>Shorgak’s hand was on Ginny’s arm, and Ginny turned towards her, angrily.  “Lavender risked her life for you!  She nearly fell to her death!”</p><p>“I see,” said Shorgak.  “One wizard life is worth many Goblin lives.  How many?  Tell me!”</p><p>“What do you want?” asked Ginny, baffled now.  She felt entirely sober now.  “Do you want the Demmy Slicer back?”</p><p>Shorgak’s reaction startled her:  The Goblin literally spat now, furiously, and the liquid flew past Ginny’s arm.  “<em>One dagger</em>?  How many lives will that save?”  Ginny recoiled and staggered, and Lavender was next to her now, gripping her arm, to steady both of them.</p><p>“OK!” said Ginny, angrily.  “I’ll stay!  If that’s what it takes to get you off my back, you ungrateful…  <em>Get off me</em>!”  She was dragging herself free of Lavender.  “Is that enough for you?” she shouted at Shorgak.  “Is it?”</p><p>In the sudden silence she could hear her own voice echo from the cavern walls around them.</p><p>“We need your magic,” said Shorgak.</p><p>Ginny felt fear then.  “My wand, do you mean?” she asked, stepping backwards, uneasily, her hand reaching for her wand pocket.</p><p>Shorgak raised her arms, suddenly angry again.  “<em>No</em>!” she shouted.  “<em>We are not like you</em>!  We don’t <em>kill</em> or <em>steal </em>for what we need!  One day, humankind will <em>give</em> us wands, of their own accord!  We wait for that day, and if we all die before then, so be it!  We will not <em>contaminate </em>ourselves by becoming criminals like you!”</p><p>“So what <em>do</em> you want?” asked Lavender, puzzled, unsteadily.</p><p>“Your help,” said Shorgak, shortly.  “Your effort, and not much of that!”</p><p>“<em>What</em> help?”</p><p>Shorgak was silent, staring at her in disbelief.  Eventually she sighed noisily and spoke.  “The Demmy Slicer,” she said wearily, “was an ordinary Goblin dagger, made for the Giants, until the Dark Lord cast a spell.  Only then did it become the Demmy Slicer, and only until you snatched it back from the Giants.  Then it was useless…”</p><p>“Not true!” said Ginny, angrily.  Her tongue felt strange.  “It stopped working because Gisull died!  Not because I took it!”</p><p>“<em>But you did not return it to us</em>!” stormed Shorgak.  “No!  Now you have put your magic on it once more, for <em>your</em> safety!  Oh, and when you feel generous, <em>our</em> safety too.”</p><p>“But…”</p><p>“Don’t you <em>see</em>?  It’s just a <em>dagger</em>!  A Goblin dagger!  We have many such daggers!  Is it not <em>obvious</em>?”</p><p>“Effing hell,” said Ginny, blankly.  She reached her hand back into her wand pocket and dragged out the Demmy Slicer, so she could look at it, and pull her thoughts into order. </p><p>“What’s she talking about?” asked Lavender in her ear.</p><p>Ginny met Shorgak’s angry gaze.  “I didn’t see it,” she said, shaking her head slowly.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just a spell,” she said.  “<em>Demenda Regis</em>.  So we can cast it on lots of daggers!”</p><p>“Or <em>spades</em>!” Shorgak was shouting now.  “Or… or… <em>spoons</em>!”</p><p>“Do you all have daggers?” Ginny demanded, urgently.  “Other things might not work…”</p><p>“Of course,” said Shorgak, impatiently.  “We are Goblins.”</p><p>“Why didn’t I think of this before?”</p><p>“You’ve had things on your mind,” put in Lavender, her voice slurred, with alcohol or tiredness.  <em>Do I sound like that?</em> wondered Ginny.  “Exams, and…” </p><p>“Other stuff,” agreed Ginny, lamely.  Malfoy, for one, she thought to herself.  “Let’s do this,” she said then, with decision, even as her head swam.  “Let’s do it now.  How many of you are there?”</p><p>“Here?” asked Shorgak.  “In this tribe?  Fewer than seven score of us.”</p><p>“It might not work,” Ginny found herself saying.  “We can’t be sure…”</p><p>“So we have to try,” said Shorgak.</p><p>Ginny pulled her watch to her eyes again, and its face was at rest in her eyes now.  <em>Am I still drunk?</em>  <em>Is my judgment wrong too?</em>  <em>Surely not…</em>  “Five hours,” she said to herself.  She looked at Lavender, sober now.  “We’ve got five hours,” she said.  “I’ll stay, until I’ve put the <em>Demenda</em> spell on a hundred and… forty daggers, and we’ve found some Dementors to try this on.” </p><p>There was a gleam in Shorgak’s eyes now.  “I’ll get everybody here,” she said.  “And fetch you something to drink.”</p><p>“And food,” Lavender called to the Goblin’s retreating back, filling Ginny with a sudden realisation of what her stomach was telling her.</p><p>Clumsily, she pulled her wand from her pocket, causing it to spark.</p><p>“We do them all,” she found herself saying.  “Right now.  If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work, but if the Dementors turn up and we’re not here…”  It was hard to stop talking now.</p><p>There were figures around her, already.  A Goblin was holding out a dagger, barely half the size of the Demmy Slicer.  She brought up her wand, and the Goblin shied nervously.</p><p>“What’s your name?” Ginny asked.</p><p>“Noortas…”</p><p>“<em>Demenda Regis </em>Noortas…”</p><p>The dagger glowed briefly with a cold blue light, and she could exult in the indrawn breath of the Goblins around her.</p><p>“<em>Demenda Regis </em>Farnil… <em>Demenda Regis</em> Boornap…  <em>Demenda Regis</em> Chabak…”  Endless strange faces, grave, hopeful, amazed.  Shorgak next to her, grimly intent…  Rows, now, of Goblins, their daggers clenched in their hands, expectant, waiting…</p><p>Getting a name wrong: “<em>Demenda Regis</em> Tenloan…”  The dagger failing to glow.</p><p>“Tencloan,” a Goblin was saying.  “My name’s Tencloan…”</p><p>“<em>Demenda Regis</em> Tencloan …”  The dagger glowing blue this time; Didn’t that prove the spell was working?</p><p>Children as well, now, some wide-eyed and worried, some drooping, some asleep in their parent’s arms, each with tiny daggers in their hands.  “<em>Demenda Regis</em> Trelak…  <em>Demenda Regis </em>Noopa…  <em>Demenda Regis</em> Negak…” </p><p>“My son,” Shorgak was saying, her hand tousling Negak’s hair affectionately as he stared blinkingly at his miniature Demmy Slicer.</p><p>“I didn’t know you were married,” Ginny found herself saying. </p><p>Shorgak shook her head.  “I’m not,” she said.  “Another transgression you humans have taught us…  But when this is over, perhaps there will be time then.  If we both survive…  He is not here,” she added.  “He’s of another tribe.  I’ve haven’t seen him for… well, a long time…  This is Piddak, Farnil’s daughter…”</p><p>“<em>Demenda Regis</em> Piddak…”</p><p>Eventually it was over, and someone was thrusting a bowl at her.  A stew, heavy in fibrous mushrooms and tender meat.  The others were eating too, hungrily, using their daggers, their Demmy Slicers, which seemed strange to Ginny.  She had to burn her fingers, not being adept at eating with a dagger, but Lavender’s fingers didn’t seem to notice how hot the meat was.</p><p>“We will not risk everyone,” Shorgak was saying.  “Just a handful of us.  That’s enough to put in danger…  And we will send our children to the deepest caverns.  They will be ready, but protected by all of us.  And then we will see…”</p><p> </p><p>It was uncomfortably cold outside in the fresh air, even with rock walls shielding them from the wind.  They trooped down the narrow valley, a difficult clamber along a rocky path that dropped continually along the floor of the gorge.  The valley widened eventually, so the wind could pluck at them, icily, and eventually the bushes became small trees.  There were only six in the group – As well as Ginny, Lavender and Shorgak, there was Thorvak - the senior, whom Shorgak deferred to - and two other Goblins.  Each was armed with a Demmy Slicer dagger. </p><p>They had even presented Ginny with a dagger of her own, to her amazement, which seemed to take the <em>Demenda Regis</em> spell, but she didn’t know whether it would work for her own name. </p><p>Actually, she wasn’t sure about any of this. </p><p> </p><p>“This one?” said Shorgak eventually, pointing to a medium-sized tree.  Ginny shrugged, but by then she was keen to use <em>Incendio</em> to bring some warmth back to her chilled body.  The flames were strangely pale in the early morning light.</p><p>“So we wait,” said Shorgak.  The other Goblins seemed to melt away, finding hollows beneath other trees, and Lavender emulated them, leaving Ginny with Shorgak.</p><p>“It was only about ten minutes,” Ginny said.  “Last time…”  She found herself thinking of Emerald, and Arjun, and Bragrak, Shorgak’s father…</p><p>Ginny looked at her watch:  Their Transfiguration Practical started in less than an hour from now.  She was still freezing cold, despite stamping her feet and hiding her hands in her robe, and standing as close as she dared to the burning tree.  Would they need to set fire to another one?</p><p>“Did he die bravely?” asked Shorgak, abruptly.  “My father?”  It was inevitable, surely, that Shorgak was thinking about Bragrak too.</p><p>“It was too quick,” said Ginny, after gathering her thoughts.  “It wasn’t a battle.  We could see the Demmy Slicer wasn’t working, and the Giants were running.  Panicking.  I don’t think they meant to kill your father.”  It was hard to stop talking now.  “I didn’t see it happen…”</p><p>“So you don’t know,” said Shorgak, flatly.</p><p>“Bragrak was incredibly brave to do what he did,” Ginny managed.  “He knew that if things went wrong he had little chance of surviving.  He said he wanted to save the Giants.  And eventually his own people, I suppose.”</p><p>“He was a stupid dreamer,” said Shorgak, angrily.</p><p>“He was a brave man,” countered Ginny.  “I’m sorry:  A brave Goblin.  Better than a man.”</p><p>Shorgak looked at her suspiciously.  “Do you believe that?” she asked.  “Lying about such things is… is an abuse of your tongue!  And my ears.”</p><p>Ginny shook her head.  “I’m not lying.  I don’t think I could have done what he did.”</p><p>A hoarse cry; The Goblins were standing, pointing.  Ginny found she had no breath, as she watched the arrow of Dementors dive towards them.  Her wand was in one hand, and then her other hand was searching for her Demmy Slicer as well.  How many were there…?</p><p>The black swarm split, and the Dementors were among them.  She could see Lavender crouching, reflexively, but then the original Demmy Slicer was lifting, slicing, and Ginny could breathe again as a Dementor turned into a spray of black and white.  The Dementors were not attacking Lavender yet.  Did they prefer Goblins?</p><p>Lavender dispatched another Dementor with a backhand swipe, and then she was running towards a Goblin on the ground, who was almost invisible beneath a pack of Dementors.  Ginny was scrambling after Lavender, fumbling as she swapped wand and dagger, and she was slashing at a Dementor.  The angry joy she felt as the Dementor turned to spray was indescribable, and she was ripping another Dementor apart, and another…  The felled Goblin was getting to his feet, his eyes angry and frightened, but soul intact.  Lavender was beyond them now, a whirling figure of death, her Demmy Slicer never still as she slaughtered Dementor after Dementor.  She caught Ginny’s eye and glared.</p><p>“Patronus!” she shouted.  “Don’t let them…”  Her dagger continued to weave about her, and she was surrounded by spiralling white and black mist.  “Don’t let them escape!” </p><p>Ginny was filled with remorse and anger against herself.  She managed to drop her dagger as she swapped hands again, and then she was screaming. “<em>Expecto Patronum</em>!”  Her rhino was in their midst, and she was steering it upwards, her eyes straining to tell the difference between spiralling black mist and actual Dementors. </p><p>Some Dementors must have escaped, but she herded most of them until they were within reach of the Demmy Slicers, and their own deaths, as Lavender and the Goblins continued their grim work.   </p><p>Eventually, there were no Dementors left, and the cold air was empty again.  The tree was still burning as they took a final look at the battlefield.  Ginny’s throat was hurting in the cold air.</p><p>“Borshed’s Demmy Slicer didn’t work,” Thorvak said. </p><p>“Nothing happened,” said one of the Goblins, bitterly.  Borshed, presumably. </p><p>“I’m sorry…” Ginny started.  Her voice seemed strange.  The cold, she realised.  Or the singing last night.</p><p>“The others worked,” Shorgak pointed out.  “All of them.  Ginny, try again.  Demenda…”</p><p>Ginny nodded.  She tried reapplying the spell, and Borshed’s dagger glowed blue.  “Didn’t…?”  She had to clear her throat.  “Didn’t that happen last time?” she asked, huskily.  But Borshed merely shrugged, angrily. </p><p>“Here,” she said, in annoyance, digging out her own dagger, and holding it out to him.  Her?  “Take this one.”</p><p>Borshed glared at her.  “Take it,” said Shorgak.  “Give her yours.  She saved your soul, remember.”</p><p>“No,” said Borshed, still incensed.</p><p>“Anger instead of honour?” said Shorgak.  “Are you human now?”  She flinched.  “Ginny!  I am sorry!  I did not mean that!”</p><p>“It’s OK,” said Ginny, awkwardly.</p><p>“Borshed,” said Thorvak.  “Give your father’s dagger to Gweasley, and take what she offers you.”</p><p>“It’s OK,” said Ginny.  “I don’t need…”  But Shorgak was nudging her heavily, and pushing Ginny’s other hand forward to take Borshed’s dagger.</p><p>Even then Borshed hesitated, but eventually held out his dagger and gestured. </p><p>“Take it,” Shorgak urged her.  “You must…”</p><p>Ginny held out her dagger, and pushed it into Borshed’s free hand, which was by his side, and then carefully put her hand on the offered dagger.  They seemed to be locked together for a second, but then Borshed released the dagger in one hand, and took the other.  Then to Ginny’s surprise, the Goblin stepped up to her and hugged her with one arm.  She squeezed her free arm around Borshed in return, who was now giving her a crooked smile. </p><p>“I ought to do a new spell,” Ginny suggested, realising.  “So the daggers have the right name…”</p><p>Borshed shook his (her?) head.  “Shorgak said it will work as long as we are both alive.  Stay alive, Gweasley.”  And the Goblin was grinning now.</p><p>“Our exam!” said Ginny, suddenly.  “What time is it?”  She dragged her wrist to her eyes in alarm.  “Now,” she said.  “Five minutes ago!  Shorgak, you guys, we’ve got to go…”  Her hand reached out to Lavender, and then halted.</p><p>“So, what are you going to do?” she asked Lavender.  It was hard to talk now.  “You could stay here, maybe.”  She turned to look at Shorgak, who looked surprised, then nodded. </p><p>“We could use a warrior,” Shorgak said to Lavender.  But Thorvak, over Shorgak’s shoulder now, was looking shocked and then angry. </p><p>“No,” said Lavender.  Had she seen Thorvak’s expression?  “It’s like I told you.  I’m not going to risk it.”</p><p>“You’re choosing to go back to <em>Azkaban</em>?” croaked Ginny in amazement.</p><p>“I’m choosing not to be a werewolf,” said Lavender.  “Not to be a murderer.  Look, we need to go.  We’re late already, and I might change my mind…”  </p><p>She latched onto Ginny’s arm, met her eyes, and nodded.  They were twisting…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Test</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The main gate was deserted, and Ginny had just pulled Lavender through the barrier when a strange roaring noise made her falter.  It seemed to be coming from above her head, and she looked up.</p>
<p>A large black object slammed noisily into the ground just outside the main gate.</p>
<p>The fallen object resolved into Hagrid, struggling to his feet, and a small – no, quite sizeable – motorcycle and sidecar, crumpled beneath him.</p>
<p>“Hagrid!” Ginny called in amazement.  “Are you all right?”</p>
<p>“Wha’?” said Hagrid, twisting around.  “Oh.  ‘Lo, Ginny.  Yeah, fine.  Me bike’s playing up, see.”</p>
<p>“Looks like you taught it a lesson,” observed Lavender.</p>
<p>“Don’ make these bikes like they used ter,” said Hagrid mournfully.  He was delving in the sidecar, which was caved in along one side.  “I’m in trouble if…” muttered Hagrid to himself.  “Ar!”  He gingerly pulled his fist out of the sidecar and opened his fingers.  Nestling in his huge palm was a bundle of cloth, which he carefully unwrapped, revealing a small glass vial, filled with white mist.  “No ‘arm done,” breathed Hagrid.  “Righ’, I’m off to see the ‘eadmistress.  Need ter get on…”  And he strode away towards the school, leaving the wreck of the motorcycle, which was both smoking and leaking a pungent liquid. </p>
<p>“I miss him, you know,” said Lavender, fondly.</p>
<p>A small flame flickered into life in the remains of the motorbike.  Ginny grabbed Lavender’s arm and twisted.  They left at the right moment.  The motorcycle erupted, bright orange light spun around them, and the sound of the explosion was a malevolent, circling being... </p>
<p>They came to rest in the Entrance Hall.  The door into the Great Hall was closed, but it yielded to <em>Alohamora</em>. </p>
<p>There were rows of chairs in the hall – not many, enough for all the N.E.W.T. Transfiguration candidates – and in front of them the raised stage held a smaller table than normal.  Behind that was Professor Tofty, the external examiner, staring at her in amazement, and beside him, to her relief, was Professor McGonagall, talking to Professor Sprout.  Another figure was rising from a chair on the raised stage: Arbroath Yaxley turned and stared at them angrily, halfway through his test, presumably. </p>
<p>McGonagall looked around in surprise.  “What happened?” she demanded. “We thought…”</p>
<p>“It’s OK,” Ginny hissed as best she could.  Her voice was nearly gone now.  “We got rid of the Dementors.  We stayed on to arm the Goblins…”  Without warning, Lavender rounded on her and thumping her arm, suddenly and unkindly. </p>
<p>“<em>Arm </em>them?” McGonagall rapped in reply.  “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Gave them Demmy Slicers,” managed Ginny.  Her throat was hurting, and she felt very tired now, utterly unprepared for an exam. </p>
<p>“<em>What?”</em> demanded McGonagall.</p>
<p>“No, I didn’t mean that,” Ginny tried. </p>
<p>“Thank goodness…” started McGonagall.</p>
<p>“They already had daggers, so I just put the Demmy Slicer spell on them…”</p>
<p>“<em>SHUT UP</em>!” Lavender shouted in her ear.</p>
<p>There was a flash then, something that in her exhaustion Ginny couldn’t understand. </p>
<p>“Mr Yaxley!” McGonagall shouted.  “This is an examination room!”</p>
<p>McGonagall raised her wand, and two Patronuses leapt from it and disappeared.  That was the flash she’d seen just now, Ginny realised, as McGonagall hurried out of the room.  She could see Draco now, standing with the others, his face set and white.  What was wrong?</p>
<p>“Mr Yaxley,” Professor Tofty was saying.  “You have completed your test.  Please return to your seat.  Miss Weasley, I would like to test you next.  Before…”  He shrugged and stopped.</p>
<p>Ginny looked around in confusion, shook her head to clear it, unsuccessfully, then stepped forward – her legs were as tired as the rest of her, and the Great Hall floor felt like a mattress – and climbed up onto the stage.  Yaxley was smiling at her again as he passed her, that dark, inviting smile, but there was something else in his eyes now…</p>
<p>“Sit down…”</p>
<p>She sat.</p>
<p>“Miss Weasley, I would like you to turn this butterfly into a caterpillar…”</p>
<p>Her hand of its own accord brought out both her wand and her dagger, and she had to stare at what was in her fist before she could return the dagger to her pocket.  Butterfly to caterpillar; That wasn’t too hard, was it?</p>
<p>Ginny tried to clear her throat.  She thought ruefully about all the singing she’d done last night…</p>
<p>“Take a seat, please,” announced Professor Tofty.  “You will be scored on the accuracy of the Transfiguration, including size, colour and of course <em>shape, </em>and the overall success of your Transfiguration<em>.</em>”</p>
<p>Ginny was puzzled: She remembered for her O.W.L. exam, they had been led individually into a cubicle to perform their spells, but all seemed different here.  She opened her mouth to ask, and was horrified to find she was entirely voiceless.  Not even a whisper emerged.</p>
<p>“Do we have to do it in public?” rasped Lavender, behind her.  <em>Her voice sounds like mine</em>, Ginny realised.  Had she been singing, too?  Or was it the Goblin wine, maybe?</p>
<p>“Of course,” replied Tofty.  “These are not O.W.L.s.  In life, you will need to be able to produce successful spells in any situation, and your N.E.W.T. reflects this.”</p>
<p><em>How can I perform a transfiguration spell with no voice?</em> Ginny wondered in horror.  She was OK with a lot of silent spells, and she knew McGonagall could transform objects – transform herself – silently, but for everyone else transfiguration spells had to be spoken.  What was she going to do?  She turned and looked at Lavender, who looked equally worried.</p>
<p>“I need a throat spell,” she tried to say to Professor Tofty, but she was inaudible.  She pointed to her throat.  He was annoyingly slow to realise what the problem was.  “No voice?” he said, eventually, as light dawned.  “Dear me,” he said, blankly.  “Well, I regret to say curative spells are not permitted immediately before an examination.  You will have to do the best you can, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>And as much as Ginny wanted to object – and presumably Lavender, too – there was nothing she could say, quite literally.</p>
<p>She sank into the chair opposite Tofty, and repeated the transfiguration spell silently to herself, and tried to concentrate on the anatomy of a caterpillar.  <em>The difficulty in transfiguring complex animals is not related directly to the complexity of the animals.  </em>McGonagall’s words, from a lesson months back.  <em>The difficulty is in fully conceiving the entire animal in your mind’s eye.   </em>Prolegs, she thought.  Compound eyes, mandibles, segments.  Breathing holes; What was the proper name for them?  Spira…?  She kept clearing her throat, and her throat felt as strange as ever.</p>
<p>“Ready?” asked Professor Tofty, and she nodded.  Her butterfly didn’t want to leave its box, and Tofty’s bony fingers prodded it uncertainly until it could be persuaded to crawl onto the table.  It then decided to make for Tofty’s edge of the little table, surprisingly quickly, and she hurriedly jerked her wand into position, remembering the little twitch she needed to do, and tried to speak the spell.</p>
<p>Nothing.  Silence, and the butterfly continued to march busily across the table towards Professor Tofty.  It was a pretty one, red and brown, with large eye spots.</p>
<p>Ginny cleared her throat mightily and tried again hurriedly, before the butterfly walked off the table entirely.  “Caterpillar,” she tried, although the C sounded like a G, and the middle syllables didn’t sound at all…  The wand twitch didn’t seem quite right, either.</p>
<p>Suddenly there was a crash, and to her amazement and horror Professor Tofty disappeared from sight.  There were murmurs and exclamations behind her, quickly getting much louder.</p>
<p>Something furry appeared over the edge of the desk.  <em>It worked</em>, she thought in slight relief.  <em>Although it’s a little large.</em>  Was it big enough to fail her?  She was slow to realise that the prolegs didn’t look right.  They were long, and mobile, and were in fact… fingers.  Another similar furry black object appeared, and latched onto the side of the table.   This had fingers too, she decided.  Two caterpillars…?</p>
<p>A large black head, that not even the most optimistic transfiguror could mistake for a caterpillar, loomed above the edge of the desk, between the two sets of fingers.  The face seemed to be made of fur, surrounding black, gleaming flesh.  The eyes, larger than hers, set under heavy black brows, were glaring at her.  The protuberant mouth opened, crookedly.  <em>Some kind of monkey</em>, Ginny decided, unable to move.  And big.  There were more cries and screams behind her now.  She opened her mouth to ask something, but even with a functioning larynx she would have had nothing to ask. </p>
<p>The shouted words behind her made sense at last.  One of them was “Gorilla”.  She could hear chairs being knocked over.  <em>I should </em>stand, she thought to herself.  <em>And get out of here.  </em>The gorilla heaved itself up, so their eyes were at the same level.  It vaulted easily onto the desk, so it was towering above her, and used its huge fists to beat its chest and roar.  It still had wings, Ginny saw, large coloured ones.  Then it was springing nimbly from the table, and then the stage, and she turned to watch in bewilderment as it scooted playfully after the remaining students, who were screaming as they ran in circles, trying to evade its clutches.</p>
<p>It was Professor Sprout who found words first, and reversed the spell, and the restored butterfly - confused as well as annoyed, probably - fled to the beams above, while the students expressed their adrenaline by shouting to each other and staggering about the room.  It was also Professor Sprout who hurried behind the stage and pulled Professor Tofty from the remains of his chair, found him another one and urged him to sit.  Tofty looked like Ginny would have expected someone to look after a gorilla had landed on them.  It appeared the ban on curative spells didn’t apply to examiners, because a large decanter and a sturdy glass appeared on the table in front of him, and Sprout refilled his glass for him several times.</p>
<p><em>That probably wasn’t a pass</em>, Ginny thought shakily as she found a seat, turned it the right way up and sat.</p>
<p>Professor Tofty’s hand was quivering as he finally put his glass down on the table and reached for another white box.  “Lavender Brown,” he called, uncertainly.</p>
<p>The doors to the hall crashed open behind them.  “Out of my way!” shouted someone.  Dawlish’s voice!  Ginny turned swiftly, and she could see the Chief Auror, with several Aurors behind him, wands at the ready.</p>
<p>Professor Tofty was shocked and angry.  He stood abruptly.  “What is the meaning of this?” he spluttered.</p>
<p>“I’m here on Auror Office business!” proclaimed Dawlish.  “Where’s Ginny Weasley?  She’s under arrest!”</p>
<p>Ginny was on her feet, ready to run, but there was nowhere to go. </p>
<p>“<em>Wait</em>!” shouted Professor Tofty.  “No-one will be arrested until this examination is over!  Get out of here!”</p>
<p>Dawlish looked truly angry.  “You will not interfere with urgent Auror business!” he shouted.  “I am here to apprehend a criminal…”</p>
<p>There was a loud report from behind Dawlish, and he jumped and spun around.  Professor McGonagall was standing there.</p>
<p>“There will be no arrests here,” said McGonagall, “Until this exam is over and you have explained yourself!  Professor Tofty, please carry on!  <em>No</em>, Mr Dawlish.  You will have to wait!”</p>
<p>Dawlish stepped up to her and began speaking rapidly and angrily in her ear as McGonagall swept from the room, her wand slamming the doors behind both of them.</p>
<p>“Miss Brown?” said Professor Tofty, uncertainly.  “Are you ready to proceed?”</p>
<p>When Lavender ascended the stage and reached the chair, she paused to look around at the others.  She seemed unnaturally tense, and her eyes were wary, as she locked eyes with Ginny.  There was a gleam now in those wolfish eyes.  Lavender sat, elegantly, leaned forward and muttered to Tofty.</p>
<p>“You’ve lost your voice, <em>as well</em>?”  said Tofty in disbelief, with a definite quaver there, and Ginny found her lips quirking in amusement.  Poor Tofty…  But the Professor bravely kept to his chair as Lavender bent forward with her wand and whispered to her butterfly.</p>
<p>Ginny couldn’t have conceived of anything other than anti-climax at this point, but it appeared that Tofty was more keyed up than she was.  He bolted sideways, running very well for a man of his age.  He ran out of raised stage, descended in a graceful arc to the main floor and skidded to a halt, still on his feet.  Lavender’s reflexes were equally as good, and she dived off the front of the raised stage.</p>
<p>There were loud screams, now, distracting Ginny.  She stood, slowly.</p>
<p>How high was the Great Hall ceiling? Thirty feet?  More?  A huge lizard-like animal, standing on two massive back legs, towered in the middle of the hall, its head brushing the beams of the ceiling, its two short, near-human arms stretching out webbed hands towards her.  Its head was enormous too, and it opened a vast mouth and roared, although the roar was strange, higher-pitched than a dragon, with a curious ululating cry.  It stamped its hind legs in turn, repeatedly.  And instead of breathing flames, like a real dragon, it was spitting <em>lightning</em>…  Ginny reached for her wand as the monster leapt lumpenly off the raised stage, and everyone was running…</p>
<p>Without warning, the monster disappeared, and only a tiny butterfly could be seen in its place, flying up towards the ceiling.  Ginny turned to see a self-satisfied Professor Sprout blowing across the top of her wand before she put it away and went to help Professor Tofty once more.  Numb with tiredness now, Ginny found the sudden silence strange and uncanny.</p>
<p>“What was that?” asked somebody.</p>
<p>“Miss Weasley!” McGonagall’s voice.  “My study!  Now!”</p>
<p> Ginny came to the sudden realisation that the Headmistress, Head of House and Transfiguration teacher who had supported her throughout her time at Hogwarts was probably not going to be pleased that her Head Girl had just entirely flunked her Transfiguration practical.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Headmistress…” she started, but McGonagall strode straight up to her and took hold of her arm. </p>
<p>She brought up her other forefinger, made a spinning gesture and rapped “My study!”  Ginny twisted obediently, and they were in front of the gargoyle that guarded the Headmistress’s office.</p>
<p>“Caber!” snapped McGonagall.  The gargoyle leaped hurriedly out of the way, and Ginny followed McGonagall as she stormed up the stairs.</p>
<p>“I need to show you something,” said McGonagall when she reached the top.  “And quickly!”  She turned towards a tall cupboard, which was unlocked, with the padlock hanging from the hasp.  Inside was an unearthly glow, radiating from a wide stone bowl.  Ginny had never seen the Pensieve, but it was immediately recognisable from Harry’s description.  It was brim-full of a cloudy iridescent liquid.</p>
<p>“Miss Weasley,” said McGonagall formally.  “What you are about to see is highly confidential.  I do <em>not</em> want you discussing this with all and sundry.  Do I make myself clear?”</p>
<p>“OK,” said Ginny, unsure what she was promising here.</p>
<p>“Well, hurry along,” said the Headmistress.  “Stand here…  Now, bend down so you can see inside.”</p>
<p>Inside?  Ginny could see stone walls within the Pensieve, as if it was a huge well.  “What am I seeing?” she asked.</p>
<p>“This morning’s Wizengamot meeting,” said McGonagall.  “Closer now…  This is Kingsley’s memory…”</p>
<p>Kingsley Shacklebolt?  Why was she being asked to share the Minister of Magic’s memories?  She bent forward obediently, and as her nose touched the surface, she was tumbling through the air, and she couldn’t breathe until she hit the ground.  She pushed herself to her feet in bafflement. </p>
<p>She was standing in a large stone chamber, the walls of which rose hugely to a vaulted ceiling.   There was tiered seating all around her, but only a few seats were filled.  Standing in the centre was a small, toad-like figure she recognised:  Dolores Umbridge, ex-Headmistress of Hogwarts.  That was a shock:  She’d understood that Umbridge had never fully recovered from her experience in the Forbidden Forest, yet here she was, brimming with confidence and that hideous smile of hers. </p>
<p>“The Wizengamot recognises Dolores Umbridge,” said a voice next to her.  Kingsley Shacklebolt, sitting on a raised throne, was looking down at Umbridge.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Minister,” fluted Umbridge, her voice as oily and girlish as ever.  Ginny repressed a shiver.  “There has been a recent <em>disturbing</em> development that is of concern to us <em>all</em>.  I refer, of course, to the applying of a Dark spell to a weapon belonging to a Giant, in contravention of Wizarding Law, by a student at Hogwarts!”</p>
<p>“Now, Dolores,” said Shacklebolt, in his slow, amiable voice.  “No law has been broken to my knowledge…”</p>
<p>“I beg to differ, Minister,” said Umbridge, smiling sweetly.  “Non-humans are not allowed such spells, and for a <em>child</em> to use a Dark Magic spell...!”</p>
<p>“<em>Child</em>?” said Ginny loudly, in annoyance, but no-one heard her.</p>
<p>“A spell which has already destroyed a large flock of Dementors!” said a witch, angrily.</p>
<p>“So we’re <em>told</em>,” said Umbridge with another smile.  “I would remind the Wizengamot that this same <em>child</em> was only recently responsible for the death of two of her fellow pupils.  An action driven,” she added with relish, “Purely by an immature desire for notoriety.”</p>
<p>“Not true!” said the same witch, stoutly.  Ginny wished she knew who her supporter was, but the expressions on the other wizards and witches were less certain.</p>
<p>“Hogwarts School has already reported on this,” said Kingsley.  “And found that the <em>prefect</em> acted from the best of intentions…”</p>
<p>“I would say,” said Umbridge, loudly, “That <em>if</em> the Minister of Magic is doing his job properly, the use of a Dark Magic spell should automatically be considered as a crime.  And conspiring with non-humans in the use of such magic!  I move that this child be required to present herself to the full Wizengamot for a full enquiry and be brought to trial…”</p>
<p>“I object!” stated the lone witch.  Shacklebolt waved her down, placatingly.</p>
<p>“And that furthermore,” finished Umbridge, “This enchanted dagger must be confiscated immediately, and put in the charge of the Auror Department, before someone else dies!”</p>
<p>“No more deaths!” shouted someone.</p>
<p>“Goblins are people too!” shouted another.</p>
<p>Then everyone was speaking at once. </p>
<p>“I think you’ve heard enough,” said McGonagall’s voice in her ear.  There was a hand on Ginny’s elbow, pulling her backwards, and she was somersaulting upwards, until she was on her feet once more in McGonagall’s office. </p>
<p>“That disgusting <em>snake</em>!” Ginny said angrily.  “I thought we’d seen the back of her!”</p>
<p>“You need to leave,” said McGonagall.  “You need to go immediately, before you are arrested.”</p>
<p>“<em>Arrested?  </em>But…  Leave?  And go where?”</p>
<p>“I cannot help you there,” said McGonagall.  “But your situation is exceedingly dangerous.”</p>
<p>“I need to pack,” said Ginny uncertainly, her heart thudding. </p>
<p>“No, you need to leave now!” McGonagall said firmly.  “Kingsley can’t control them on this one.  There is a debate going on at this moment – he has just sent me a Patronus on the subject – so you need to leave.  The Main Gate, Ginny, <em>now…</em>”</p>
<p>McGonagall took her arm, and Ginny, unable to argue, obeyed, and twisted. </p>
<p>A crowd of men were at the gate, with a familiar figure in front of them:  Aurors, with Dawlish at their head.  There was a look of savage pleasure in his face.</p>
<p>“Ginny Weasley, I am arresting you…” he called.</p>
<p>“Run, Ginny!” McGonagall shouted, shoving her through the barrier, but as Ginny tried to flee Dawlish blocked her path.</p>
<p><em>“Expelliarmus!”</em> he shouted.  “<em>Accio</em> dagger!”</p>
<p>Before she could react, her wand was dragged from her fingers, and her robe tugged around her, making her stagger.  Her Demmy Slicer ripped free of her wand pocket and tumbled to the ground as Dawlish caught her wand triumphantly in his raised hand.  Ginny dived for the fallen dagger, but another Auror was there before her, and snatched it away from her.</p>
<p>“Ginny!”  McGonagall was yelling behind her.  “Just go!  <em>Now</em>!”</p>
<p>“SEIZE HER!” Dawlish was screaming. </p>
<p>Somebody landed on her, heavily, clawing at her, and she couldn’t turn over and fight them off.  Then another pair of hands were on her, shoving her shoulders down, banging her face into the baked grass.  She managed to get her teeth into a hand placed incautiously near her mouth.  Her victim yelled and snatched his hand away, then clouted her.  They had her hands now, were bending her arms backwards, agonisingly, and she was snarling angrily and struggling, but there was nothing she could do.</p>
<p>“Stop that!” shouted McGonagall.  “Let her go!”  The anger and emotion in the Headmistress’s voice made it almost unrecognisable. </p>
<p>“Hold her!” Dawlish snapped, close by.  “<em>Watch out</em>!”  Ginny heard the fizz of a Stunning spell, and she flinched, but the spell must have hit someone else.  Someone was tying her wrists together, and however much she struggled she couldn’t prevent them.</p>
<p>“<em>No</em>!” shouted McGonagall.  “You mustn’t…!”</p>
<p>The weight came off Ginny’s back, and she could squirm over.  It hurt, with her hands bound behind her, but she relieved her feelings by aiming a kick at the Auror standing over her.  She connected with his knee, and he yelled, but then there was a purple flash, and nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ginny!” said a voice.</p>
<p>Her head was hurting.  And her wrists, and she couldn’t move them.  Most things hurt, in fact.  She was lying on a stone floor, her hands still bound behind her back, and there were two pairs of feet in her eyeline.  it was a painful effort, even with other hands to help her, to hump herself up, onto her knees and then her feet. </p>
<p>She was in a small, stone-walled room.  It had a high narrow window, and out of it she could see blue sky, but nothing else.  She must be in one of the taller towers, where even the mountains and trees were invisible. </p>
<p>Her helpers were Draco and Lavender Brown.  Draco looked upset and annoyed, Lavender merely angry.</p>
<p>The door was of the solid Hogwarts variety, and was shut.  Ginny staggered across to the door and used her bound hands to test the handle, but the door appeared to be bolted, from the outside. </p>
<p>“We already tried that,” said Lavender, pointedly.</p>
<p>There was a grill in the door, but no-one was visible in the stone corridor beyond.  <em>Hogwarts makes a perfect prison</em>, she thought.  <em>Strange that never occurred to me before.</em></p>
<p>She turned to the other two.  “Are you OK?” she asked, belatedly.</p>
<p>“Apart from locked up, yeah,” said Lavender.  “But that’s nothing new.   Look, can you get us out of here?”</p>
<p>“What?  <em>How</em>?” demanded Ginny, bitterly.  “Hands tied.  Literally!  No wand!  No dagger, even.  What about you?”  Their hands weren’t tied, she realised.</p>
<p>“Ginny, they’re going to put all three of us in Azkaban as soon as Dawlish has outshouted McGonagall.  Including Malfoy, for his own protection, says Dawlish.  We need to hurry.”</p>
<p>“Hurry <em>how</em>?”  Ginny was struggling vainly with the bonds around her wrists.</p>
<p>Lavender grabbed Ginny’s shoulder and put her head next to hers.  “Ginny, how did you get from the gate to the Entrance Hall?” she hissed.  “I thought you couldn’t Apparate within Hogwarts!”</p>
<p>“McGonagall gave me a key,” said Ginny.  “A bracelet.”</p>
<p>“Have you still got it?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said Ginny uncertainly.  She twisted around, fruitlessly.  “Can you see it?  On my right wrist.” </p>
<p>“Yes,” said Draco.  “It’s there.”  He sounded angry and anxious now.  “Get us out of here, Weasley!”</p>
<p>“I haven’t got a wand!” Ginny snarled.</p>
<p>“Do you <em>need</em> one for Apparating?” asked Lavender.  “They don’t give out wands in Azkaban, but there are still spells all around the place to stop people twisting out of there.  I heard a guard moaning about that once.”</p>
<p>“Well, that’s just belt and braces, isn’t it?” Ginny said uncertainly.  “Just in case a prisoner snatches a wand.”</p>
<p>“Look,” said Lavender, angrily.  “Are you going to spend all day preaching theory, or are you going to effing <em>try</em>?”  She grabbed hold of Ginny’s arm.</p>
<p>“OK!  OK!” snarled Ginny, as Draco took her other arm. </p>
<p>“And <em>hurry</em>, yeah?”</p>
<p>“I thought you wanted to stay in Azkaban…”</p>
<p>“HURRY!”</p>
<p>But it wasn’t that easy.  Ginny concentrated on the main gate, and steeled herself as best she could, and twisted. </p>
<p>Nothing. </p>
<p>“No…” she said.</p>
<p>“<em>Hurry!”</em></p>
<p>Ginny tried again.  Even physically twisting wasn’t easy, with her hands behind her back.  Still nothing.  “This isn’t working!” she said.</p>
<p>Lavender didn’t bother to reply.</p>
<p>Ginny felt angry at Lavender’s unreasonableness, which transferred to Dawlish, that smug smile of his.  <em>No!</em> she told herself.  <em>Don’t think about him, or you’ll end up standing in front of him...</em></p>
<p>She could hear sounds now.  A distant door opening.  Steps, someone climbing steps.</p>
<p>“<em>Get a move on!</em>” hissed Lavender.</p>
<p>
  <em>Effing Dawlish.  Effing Lavender…</em>
</p>
<p>In a surge of rage, Ginny focussed on the main gate with all her might, and heaved herself round with an angry shout.</p>
<p>She gave another grunt - of amazement, this time - because they were outside.  Here was the main gate, and she could see a group of dark figures.  More Aurors…  One was dragging out a wand, and aiming a spell at them.  She was dragging the other two forwards, through the invisible barrier, and she was twisting once more.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Mist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They landed hard on fine, dry sand in a tangle of limbs.  Lavender fought free first, and then Ginny was struggling to climb to her knees.</p><p>But Draco wasn’t moving.</p><p>“Draco?” Ginny called anxiously.  “Draco!” </p><p>“He caught the spell,” said Lavender, behind her.  “They were trying to Stun us.”</p><p>With no wand between the three of them, they couldn’t use <em>Enervate</em> to bring him out of it.  “We’ll just have to wait,” Ginny said, unhappily. </p><p>“He’ll be OK,” said Lavender.  “So where are we?”</p><p>“Near Bill and Fleur’s house,” Ginny said.  “My brother Bill, I mean.  The house is over there…  behind that sand dune…”  They had Apparated next to Dobby’s grave, where she had spent countless lonely hours only months back.</p><p>“Are we safe here?”</p><p>“Not for long,” said Ginny.  She could already feel alarm rising in her.  How long would it be, before the Aurors thought to try here?  “Can you get my hands free, to start with?”  She twisted her bound wrists towards Lavender, and then there were hands on her bonds. </p><p>“They didn’t want you getting these off, did they?” commented Lavender. </p><p>Ginny could feel her wrists being tugged repeatedly, but they stayed obstinately together, and her sense of panic rose.  “Can we get a move on?” she complained.</p><p>“Wait,” said Lavender, behind her.  Ginny could feel something different now – skin on her skin, then moisture. </p><p>“What are you <em>doing</em>?” she asked, fretfully.</p><p>“Using my teeth,” said Lavender presently. </p><p>Ginny heard a groan.  She twisted around quickly, and could see that Draco was moving:  His arm was coming up to his head, uncertainly.</p><p>“Keep still!” said Lavender.  Then Ginny was jerked painfully by her wrists, and then again, a much stronger pull, and her arms were being dragged backwards, and she was falling.  She could see a flash of dark fur, and Draco was yelling.  There was snarling behind her, and it felt as if her arms were being wrenched off.  Her face was thudding repeatedly into the dry, gritty sand.</p><p>Suddenly her arms were free, and she was bringing them round, onto the sand, and launching herself forward, and up, and she was turning, panting with exertion and fear. </p><p>“What the…?” she began.</p><p>There was a werewolf in front of her, and as she watched it changed, rearing upwards onto its rear legs, growing paler, until Lavender was standing there, equally short of breath.  She was naked, and she turned to pick up a pile of black – her robe – off the sand behind her and pull it on.  Draco was kneeling on the sand, eyes fixed on Lavender, looking terrified.</p><p>“Sorry,” panted Lavender as her head emerged through the neck of the robe.  “Didn’t have my nail scissors.”</p><p>There were still ropes tied around Ginny’s wrists, and she brought them up to examine them.  She tried to pick at the remaining knots with her fingers.  But the knots were damp, and somehow she didn’t fancy using her own teeth on them.</p><p>“Here,” said Lavender, coming forward and putting her hands on the knots.  “Easier with two hands…”  She struggled for some time, and Ginny had to curb her gathering impatience, but the knots eventually came free on one wrist.  Lavender turned her attention to her other wrist.</p><p>“You’re an Animagus,” said Draco, hoarsely.  His voice still shook.  “An Animagus werewolf.  What does that mean?”</p><p>Lavender looked over her shoulder at him.  “Mean?  I’m guessing you mean, what happens if I bite you?”</p><p>“Yes,” said Draco.  Ginny could hear the tension in his voice.  <em>Never a Gryffindor</em>, she thought. </p><p>“I don’t know,” admitted Lavender.  “They made sure I never got a chance in Azkaban.  And I was on my best behaviour at Hogwarts.”</p><p>“Even when Dawlish arrested you?” asked Ginny.  She imagined sinking her own teeth into Dawlish.  <em>I’d have enjoyed that.</em></p><p>“How would that have helped?” asked Lavender.</p><p>“What if someone had cornered you?” put in Draco. </p><p>“Don’t know,” said Lavender again.  “For now, let’s assume if I bite you when I’m a werewolf, you could get infected.  So don’t piss me off when I’m wolf-shaped.  Or really piss me off in this shape, ‘cos it doesn’t take me long to change, does it?”  She gave her howling laugh.  The final knot came free, and Lavender dropped the rope fragments onto the sand.  Ginny’s wrists were stinging.  <em>Not surprisingly</em>.  But it was good to be free, although the angst was still there.</p><p>“So what now?” broke in Draco.  He sounded annoyed. </p><p>“We need to hurry,” said Ginny.  “See if Bill and Fleur can help us.”</p><p>“And if they can’t?” put in Lavender.  “Or won’t?”</p><p>“We’re free at the moment,” said Ginny, shortly.  “Let’s take it as it comes.”</p><p>“And go where?” asked Lavender.</p><p>“I was thinking of France,” said Ginny.  “Somebody made me a sort of job offer last year.”</p><p>“Well, that’s nice,” said Lavender, kicking at the sand with her bare feet.  None of them had shoes, Ginny realised.  “I’m sure they’ll have a job for a werewolf.  Oh, and a Death Eater.”</p><p>“I’m not going anywhere with her,” said Draco, glaring at Lavender.</p><p>“What’s the alternative?” demanded Ginny, immediately angry.  “You prefer Azkaban?”</p><p>“McGonagall would get me out,” said Draco, annoyed.  “She did last time.”</p><p>Ginny couldn’t believe what she was hearing.  “And what if she couldn’t?” she demanded. </p><p>Draco shrugged, annoyingly.  To avoid yelling about his ingratitude she turned to Lavender.  “What about you?” she snapped.  “Missing your cell already?”</p><p>Lavender gave her a wolf-like grin.  “Changed my mind,” she said.  “although that does mean you’re in charge of stopping me biting anyone.”  She looked around and took a deep breath – of freedom, presumably – and out of the corner of her eye Ginny could see Draco flinching.</p><p>“I’ll be going,” he said.  “You’ll have your work cut out keeping <em>you</em> and <em>her</em> out of jail.  You don’t need me here.”</p><p>Ginny reached out quickly to his arm.  “No!” she said angrily.  “Stay!”</p><p>Draco frowned.  “<em>Stay</em>?  I’m not a house-elf,” he said.</p><p>“But I…”</p><p>“And <em>I</em> don’t want looking after, Weasley,” he added. </p><p>“You want to spend the rest of your life hiding?  Or in Azkaban?” Ginny demanded hotly. </p><p>He shrugged.  “Things will settle down.  And Azkaban’s probably the safest place to be right now, with Weasley and Brown on the loose.”</p><p>Ginny wasn’t in the mood for humour.  She gripped his arm.  “I want you with me,” she said as steadily as she could.  “And I don’t want to hear all those stupid words again, about hiding on your own.  It may have been a fling for you, Malfoy, but it… it isn’t for me.”</p><p>Draco opened his mouth to reply, uncertainly, but Lavender got there first.  “Do you two need some time alone?” she asked.  Her tone was light, but when Ginny turned, she could see that Lavender’s face was set.  “Shall <em>I</em> go?  I don’t want to be in the way.” </p><p>“No!” said Ginny in frustration.  “Look, I want you both to stay.  Is that crime, suddenly?  Should <em>I</em> be the one leaving?”</p><p>Lavender put her hands on her hips and looked at the pair of them broodingly.  “Given a choice,” said Lavender, “I’d stay.  But if <em>he</em> doesn’t want me here, I’ll go.”</p><p>“Go where?” Ginny asked.</p><p>Lavender shrugged.  “Back to Hogwarts, I suppose.  That’ll make their day, arresting an escaped werewolf.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>!” snapped Ginny.  She turned to Draco, pleadingly. </p><p>But Malfoy’s face was rigid.  <em>He’s still afraid of Lavender</em>, Ginny realised.  “Draco, she’s not going to do anything to you,” she pleaded.  “It’s perfectly safe.”</p><p>“Not true,” put in Lavender.  “You start maltreating Ginny, and I’ll eat you for lunch,” she said to him, lightly. </p><p>“And you should have seen her, Draco, with the Dementors!” added Ginny.  “She doesn’t deserve to be in Azkaban!”</p><p>“Oh?  Really?  So you <em>don’t</em> need me,” stated Draco, stiffly.  He didn’t seem to take Lavender’s levity in any way as a joke.</p><p>“Draco, please…  What do I have to do to get you to stay?  Huh?”</p><p>His eyes turned to her, and softened.  “OK, Weasley,” he said.  “I’ll stay.”  He still didn’t sound pleased.  “For now.  So now what?”</p><p>Ginny felt relief then, and as she did, a huge wave of tiredness washed over her.  She put her arms tightly around him, out of pleasure and a need for physical and emotional support.  “Let’s go find Bill and Fleur,” she said to his robe. </p><p>“Fleur is Fleur Delacour?” he inquired, stepping back.  His expression was guarded.  Maybe she could ask Lavender to go for a walk, so she and Draco could work things out properly.  And just get some sleep.  Although Lavender must be as tired as she was.  And this gruesome feeling of stress.</p><p>“Fleur Weasley, now,” Ginny said.  Even to her ears that sounded odd.  “I thought they’d have heard us,” she said.  She turned to walk in the direction of the house.</p><p>Shell Cottage was empty – and locked - when they reached it.  It was a stupid idea to come here, she realised: As soon as the Aurors had searched for them at The Burrow, they’d come here.  But where else could they go? </p><p>If she was in serious trouble with the British Ministry of Magic, escaping to France was the only plan she could think of.  Delacour had told her to contact Fleur - only Fleur wasn’t at home.  Could she be at work?  Or already in France?  Last summer, Fleur and Bill had spent the entire summer in the Delacour’s country farmhouse.  Were they already too late?</p><p>“So what do we do now?” asked Lavender.</p><p>Ginny tried Apparating the three of them directly to the farmhouse in France, but however much Determination and Decision and concentration on her Destination she summoned, nothing happened.  <em>Even with a wand,</em> she told herself gloomily, <em>I don’t think I could Apparate that far.</em></p><p>She had no idea where else to go now.  She knew they had to keep away from Shell Cottage itself, in case anyone saw them, so they returned to the dunes, along the beach from Dobby’s grave, and hid there, where they could keep an eye on the house.  Everything was very still; There was no wind, despite the even grey clouds above.  She sat down, fidgeting, and the fingers of her right hand continued to work the coarse pale brown sand as she sat, gazing at the distant roof of the house.  <em>I miss my </em>wand, she realised.  She was growing hungry, which was another problem – where could they get food?  They’d tried the door to Shell Cottage, but it was immovable.  It hadn’t even rattled when Draco had shaken the door handle, so they suspected wards were in place to prevent entry.</p><p>“Get some sleep,” said Draco.  “See if they turn up.  If they don’t by the end of the day, find somewhere else.”</p><p>“Like Azkaban, you mean?” asked Lavender.  But she didn’t object beyond that, and lay down a few yards away, out of sight of the other two.  It was a relief for Ginny to sag down onto the sand, and when she reached up her hand to Draco, he made no more objections and lay down beside her.  It was a pleasure and a reassurance to snuggle up to him, and close her eyes.  As if she was in a giant hourglass, the sand below her seemed to slip away, and she was asleep almost immediately.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re here,” said a voice nearby.   A man’s voice.  She opened her eyes in alarm, but could only see tussocks of grass.  The sky was darker now; How long had she been asleep?  Draco was still next to her.  His eyes were open, and he was carefully turning his head to look over his shoulder.</p><p>“Ssh!” came a distant hiss from a different direction.</p><p>“There’s nobody else around!” said the first voice, in an aggrieved tone.  She recognised her brother’s voice.</p><p>“Steeck to Greengott’s, Beell,” said the second voice: Fleur.  “I theenk you will nevair make an Unspeakable.”</p><p>When Ginny sat up, she could see Bill, standing feet away from them, wand in hand at his side, and Fleur trudging across the dunes towards them.  Ginny climbed to her feet, brushing sand from her robe.  “We couldn’t get into your house,” she said, slightly nettled.</p><p>“Nice to see you too,” said Bill.  “And a good thing, it turns out.  Or we’d get all sorts in there.”  There was a twisted grin on his damaged features.</p><p>“Listen,” started Ginny.  “I’m in trouble…”</p><p>“…With everybody,” Bill completed for her.  “We heard.  McGonagall sent us a Patronus.  But you can’t stay here.  So this is Malfoy?”  Draco was climbing to his feet.  “And where’s the werewolf?”</p><p>“Here,” said Lavender, behind Ginny.  She sounded annoyed.  “I’m Lavender Brown.  And aren’t you half a werewolf anyway?”</p><p>“No offence,” said Bill, lightly.  “So how did you dodge the Aurors?  When we got home the place was crawling with them.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?” said Ginny in horror.</p><p>“Didn’t you see them?”</p><p>“We were asleep,” Ginny said defensively.</p><p>“Don’t worry – they didn’t stay long,” said Bill.  “They tried to get into the house, gave up and all went home after half an hour.  Very professional, our Aurors.  And yet you still want to be one, I hear.”</p><p>“I tried Apparating over to France,” Ginny said in annoyance.   “To find Apolline.  But I haven’t got a wand.”</p><p>Fleur tutted and rolled her eyes, aggravating Ginny still further.  “What?” she demanded.</p><p>“Sea water,” said Bill.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Deed you nevair listen at school?” demanded Fleur.  “Did you learn <em>nussing</em>?”</p><p>“Decision, Determination, Destination,” said Ginny, uncertainly.</p><p>“Are you <em>medievals</em>?” asked Fleur in amazement.  “What about zee <em>t’eory</em>?”</p><p>“If you try to twist across sea water, you’re attempting to take all the water with you,” Bill explained.  “Doesn’t work.”</p><p>“So how <em>do</em> we get there?” asked Ginny, truculently.</p><p>Bill shrugged.  “Portkey’s out of the question,” he said.  “Floo network, the same.  They’re watching those, y’see.  Fancy swimming across?  Some Muggles have done it.  It’s only twenty-five miles in some places.”</p><p>Ginny ignored that.  “Can you lend us brooms?” she asked.</p><p>He shook his head.  “You’d be seen.  Even in the dark, the Muggles would spot you, with that fake magic of theirs.  And you can’t Confund a machine.”</p><p>“So we’re <em>stuck</em> here?”</p><p>“We can try and find a Muggle boat to take you,” said Bill.  “But you’ll have to hide somewhere in the meantime.”</p><p>“But zey weell come back, and zey weell find you,” said Fleur, flatly.  “No, they must ‘urry, and zere ees one choice.”</p><p>“No…” started Bill.</p><p>“What choice?” demanded Ginny.</p><p>“You skate,” said Fleur.  “Across ze water.  The Muggle magic won’t see you, close to the surface.”</p><p>“Twenty…?” started Ginny, in bemusement.</p><p>“Twenty-five miles?” said Bill at the same time.  “No.  They’ll drown.”</p><p>“Jheeny skated last summer,” said Fleur to Bill.  “Many times!”</p><p>“But not the others!  And if they fall…”</p><p>“We go wiz zem,” said Fleur.  “We rescue zem, if it is necessary.”</p><p>“You can’t!” said Bill, in horror.</p><p>“<em>I</em> can’t?” asked Fleur, indignantly.</p><p>Bill’s eyes swivelled towards Ginny and the others, uncomfortably.  “Well, you’re…”  He stopped.</p><p>Fleur stepped towards Bill, and there was a dangerous gleam in her eyes.  “Does zat make me a <em>flower</em>?  Maybe I am beeger now, but I am tough!”</p><p>Ginny turned to Fleur.  “You’re <em>pregnant</em>?” she asked in amazement.</p><p>Fleur’s anger turned on Ginny.  “Can you not <em>tell</em>?  Am I already not <em>gross</em>?”</p><p>“No!” Ginny said.  “Not at all!”  And to Ginny’s eyes, Fleur’s figure was still annoyingly perfect.</p><p>Fleur seemed only slightly mollified.  “Perhaps Beell wishes he has married a blancmange,” she said crossly, with a flick of her head.  “But <em>zees</em> wife will try not to go too fast and leave you all behind!  I zeenk we go now.”  Her wand was in her hand, and Ginny and her brother both flinched as she flicked it, but the only effect was that the door of Shell Cottage burst open briefly, a rucksack flew through the doorway, and the door slammed behind it. </p><p>The rucksack hit Bill amidships, but he managed to catch it without tipping over.  Fleur stepped between them and held her hands out to them.  “Take hold!” she commanded. </p><p>They all obeyed, Bill included.  Ginny was puzzled by this – hadn’t Fleur just said…?  But then she was spinning, and they were on a beach once more.</p><p>“What happened?” Ginny asked in bemusement. </p><p>“Zees ees ze narrowest part of ze sleeve,” said Fleur.</p><p>“Sleeve?” echoed Lavender, mystified.</p><p>“The narrowest crossing,” put in Bill.</p><p>“Are you hungry, Jheeny?” inquired Fleur.  “Beell ‘as the food now, for ‘ees fat woman, and others.  We eat before we go.”</p><p>With an expression of martyrdom, Bill opened the rucksack and pulled out packets of food.  He passed one to each of them, then tried to pass one to Fleur.</p><p>“No!  I am too fat,” insisted Fleur.</p><p>“Take it!”</p><p>“Non!”</p><p>Bill swung a rapid arm around Fleur’s shoulders and tried to cram a sandwich into her mouth.  Fleur was squealing and fighting him off, and soon both were on the sand, tussling, squawking and laughing like children.  Ginny tried to ignore them, which was hard, as she hungrily ate her sandwich.  Egg and tomato, she realised.  Bill’s favourite.  What would it be like, being married?</p><p>“We ‘ide in the meest,” said Fleur later, as she sat cross-legged in the sand, trying to drag her hair out of her eyes.  Her usual neat bun had entirely disintegrated.   Lavender and Malfoy were sitting further away, separately, uncertainly.</p><p>“Mist?” asked Ginny, looking around in puzzlement.  “What mist?”  The day was still cloudy and windless, but clear.</p><p>“We make some,” said Fleur casually, inspecting her legs with her fingers.  “It is not ‘ard, around ‘ere.  It is often meesty...  I ‘ave married beast.  Look at ze bruises, Jheeny.  See ‘ow ‘e mistreats me.”</p><p>“With luck,” said Bill dryly.  “Our daughter will take after my mother.  I might occasionally get some peace then.”</p><p>“In your dreams!” said Fleur, crossly.</p><p>“Daughter?” asked Ginny.  “You know it’s a girl?”</p><p>Fleur was looking at Bill now, as she re-tied her hair, with an unusually affectionate expression.  “Yes,” she said.  “We are sure.  With red ‘air.  But not ugly, like ‘eem.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ready?” asked Fleur.</p><p>Ginny nodded uncertainly, as did Lavender and Draco.  Fleur, in a skirt, and Bill, in shorts, were better dressed for this, but their robes would just have to get wet.  And the three of them didn’t have shoes, thanks to the Aurors.</p><p>“Your feet…”</p><p>Ginny obediently lifted each foot in turn.  The old familiar cold sensation, as Fleur’s spell hit each sole.  The unpleasant realisation stole over her once more:  She had no wand.</p><p>“OK,” said Fleur, flicking her wand skywards.  The clouds high above them seemed to sink, like a huge blanket, and Ginny couldn’t help wincing as they fell around her.  She could feel the droplets on her skin, and the beach around them disappeared, save for a few yards in each direction.  “Now we can practise,” said Fleur.  “It is easy, the only hard part is the waves near the shore.  Watch!”</p><p>Fleur ran, sprite-like, down the beach, and Bill followed her.  The pair of them were leaping across the breaking waves at the shore, spray surrounding them, and then they were on smoother undulating water, swooping over the gentle waves.</p><p>Ginny’s eyes met Lavender’s and Draco’s.  “It is easy,” she said, not entirely honestly.  She had never tried skating on waves.  “You can just run, but it’s better if you skate.  But don’t slow down, or you’ll sink.”  She ignored the uncertainty in the others’ eyes and ran down the beach towards the mist-shrouded sea. </p><p>She was past the breakers in a confused instant, and then she was trying to keep her balance on top of the waves.  She turned around to see Lavender copying her, but no Draco.  Bill was looping back towards the shore, and as she watched he crouched and was yanking at something, and Draco was there, wet through, half-drowned, trying to get his feet under him.  Bill’s wand was in his hand, and Draco was suddenly surrounded by steam as his clothes dried, but he was looking rebellious and angry.  Ginny slowed to wait for him, but Bill held his hand up at her, so she shrugged and kept skating.  When she next turned to look, she could see Bill’s head close to Draco, and Draco nodding.</p><p>Instead, she spent some time showing Lavender how to skate, instead of run – it wasn’t particularly hard, and Lavender soon got the trick of it, although the slowly rolling waves made it difficult at first.</p><p>“Can we really go twenty miles like this?” asked Lavender, uncertainly. </p><p>“The three of us are as popular here as dragon pox right now,” said Ginny, tersely.  “I say we give it a go.”</p><p>Bill was swooping past them, catching up with Fleur’s dim shadow in the mist, and Draco closed up on Ginny and Lavender.  He looked annoyed.  “I didn’t sign up for this!” he called.  “None of us did,” replied Ginny. </p><p>Now they were past the breakers, the sea was an oily calm, and they swooped over the huge gentle waves, leaving only brief and short-lived lines of foam behind them.  Fleur was leading, with Bill slightly behind her, to one side, and Lavender and Malfoy were on either side of Ginny.</p><p>Ginny’s leg muscles were already starting to complain; Could she really manage twenty-five miles or more?  She tried to guess their speed:  Faster than jogging, certainly.  Although she wasn’t sure if they could keep this up.  Three hours, maybe?  A year ago, she’d been able to water-skate on the Delacours’ little lake almost all day, but she was out of practice now.  And what about the other two?</p><p>How did Fleur know where she was going, in this mist?  Wouldn’t they end up going in circles? </p><p>And would they meet Muggle boats out here as well?</p><p>Her legs were hurting now.  She called out and slowed down slightly, and the others slowed too.  Ginny could see Fleur and Bill glance at each other, without expression.  Was she a lightweight in their eyes?  A night’s missed sleep wasn’t the best preparation for a two-dozen mile cross-Channel skate.</p><p>It must keep Bill healthy, she decided, being with Fleur the whole time.  Draco, there on her left, had moaned in the past about having to keep up with Ginny, demanding rest.   But he hadn’t seemed to really mind at the time.  Was that still true?</p><p>Her legs were freeing up now, and she felt more confident.  Lavender was emulating Fleur’s skating step now, and making it look easy.  Draco was using a rudimentary rocking step, and it was hard to judge his expression.</p><p>An age later, Fleur was looking over her shoulder at them, and holding up her hand in warning, but she didn’t slow down.  What was happening?</p><p>Ginny could hear something now, like the low rumble of a dragon.  Dragons, out here?  No, she decided.  An engine, like the Knight Bus, but even larger.  Presumably sticking her wand hand out, even if she’d still had a wand, wouldn’t summon the Knight Bus here…</p><p>Another gesture from Fleur.  She was bending her path to their right, and Ginny and the others followed obediently.  The rumble grew louder.  Bill was pointing:  When Ginny strained her eyes, she could see a dim shape in front of them.  It was huge, she realised, above them now, and it had width as well.  Nearest to them she could see something paler, attached to the nearer end of the darker shadow.  It was a huge ship, she realised, crossing in front of them.  The rumble was louder now.</p><p>The mist cleared, suddenly, and Ginny caught her breath.  The ship was solid and real now, silver-grey, with boxy, coloured structures towering above it.  It was moving very fast.  Here was the curving back of the boat, dwarfing them, the vague whiteness now thrashing grey water.  What would happen if they tried to cross that?  Fleur was darting further right now, heading for the billowing mist there, to hide once more.  Ginny could see no figures on the ship, no-one staring down at them. </p><p>They were crossing long waves fanning out from the stern of the ship, and she had to concentrate.  Then they were in the mist once more, and the ship disappeared, to her relief, the rumbling much less now.  Fleur was steering them to the left once more.  Ginny could still hear the rumble sometimes, for some minutes afterwards. </p><p>Ginny glanced at her watch - twenty to five - but she didn’t know when they’d set off.  How long had they been skating now?  Her legs made it seem an eternity.  They’d speeded up when they’d seen the ship, but her muscles seemed better acclimatised all the same.  <em>I can do this</em>, she told herself.  She made herself ignore the pains in her legs.  Were Draco and Lavender OK?</p><p>On, through the mist…</p><p>A sudden loud sound, above them, startling her.  A bird, she decided, a seagull.  Fleur looked over her shoulder, gestured upwards, with a flashing grin.  What did that mean?  Were they nearing France?</p><p>Without warning, the mist vanished.  There were clouds high above them now, and the broad sea ahead of her made her catch her breath.  The horizon looked strange, though: White and smudgy.  Not clouds, she decided, but land.  Cliffs.</p><p>Fleur was curving around, and slowing, converging with her.  “We cannot make more meest here,” she called.  “Zere are too many watching.  We must leave you ‘ere.  Before zey see us.  We are too many.  When you land, speen to our ‘ouse, you remember it?  My muzzer will meet you.  Good luck!”</p><p>Before Ginny could reply, Fleur was heading back the way they’d come, and Bill was following her, with a laconic wave.  When Ginny could risk a look over her shoulder, the pair of them had already disappeared into the wide bank of mist.</p><p>The cliffs in front of them slowly grew out of the water.  They were higher to their right, sloping downwards to her left.  There seemed to be a V-shaped gap in the cliffs ahead of her.</p><p>“Welcome to France,” she said to herself, although they weren’t there yet, were they? </p><p>A shape detached from the grey coastline to her left, and she realised it was another ship.  It was much smaller than the one they’d met in the mist.  She decided it was heading out towards them.  Would they reach the shore first?  Surely someone would see them...  The waves were higher here, and she was swooping over them, giddily.</p><p>The boat heading towards her was much nearer now.  It had a boxy cabin near the back, and a short mast, and the hull seemed to be festooned with grey.  There was a figure there – two figures – and one was pointing at them. </p><p>She veered away from them, automatically, and she was falling, and she was in the water.  The other two turned to look at her in dismay as they surged ahead of her.  Water was filling her mouth, her eyes, her ears.  She thrashed with her arms and legs, and she was on the surface now, spitting out saltwater.  Would the ship try to rescue her?  What would she say?  Galvanised, she made herself swim towards the shore, angling away from the boat.  She couldn’t see the others, which worried her.  The waves pushed her upwards enough that she could see the boat once more.  The two figures on board weren’t looking at her now, and appeared to be bending over something.  Ginny didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.  She wouldn’t have to explain, but wouldn’t she drown?</p><p>Where were the others?</p><p>Her legs were still tired from the skating, but different muscles were hurting now as she continued to swim towards the shore. </p><p>She was heading towards a beach.  Occasionally she could see figures walking along it.  She was too tired now to find a quieter place to land, but just plugged away with her arms and legs, slower now.  The waves were bigger, bigger than they’d been at Shell Cottage, and it was harder to swim through them, and in her tiredness she was tumbled over, and over. </p><p>Her leg struck something, and she cried out, but then a few seconds later she was hitting it again: Land.  Stones, beneath her feet.  She was moving sideways, she realised, along the beach, and she had to persuade her aching limbs to a final effort to reach the shore itself.  At last she could push herself to her feet.  She was knocked over by the wave behind her, got to her feet again, and she was walking now, on sand.</p><p>The beach seemed to stretch endlessly in front of her.  Nobody seemed to stare at her as she emerged from the sea, clad in a robe, and she staggered up the beach.  </p><p>She turned in a circle, still looking for the other two, and then she was running.  Two figures were emerging from the sea, one supporting the other.  When she got closer, she could see that Lavender was helping Draco, his arm across her shoulders.  He was walking, just.  He’d lost his robe, but was wearing shirt and trouser beneath, both dripping now.  Ginny splashed into the shallows to help them, taking Draco’s other arm as they staggered towards the beach.</p><p>“What happened?” she asked. </p><p>“What <em>happened</em>?” echoed Lavender, breathless.  “You dropped us in it, and he can’t swim,” she said angrily.  “We saw you go down, so we did the same, but then he was shouting, and I had to go and get him.  You should have warned us,” she said to Ginny.</p><p><em>She thinks I fell over on purpose</em>, Ginny realised.  And although the beach wasn’t crowded, there were enough Muggles staring at them, so they really couldn’t have risked skating nonchalantly onto the sand.  “Sorry,” she said.  “Draco, are you OK?”</p><p>In answer, he pulled his arms off their shoulders and pushed them away, so he could walk unaided.  “No,” he said, eventually.  He was angry, not surprisingly.</p><p>Two people – a man and a woman - were walking towards them, from their left, along the wet sand at the margin of the sea.  One was saying something, calling out to them.</p><p>“What?” she called back, in French. </p><p>“Where are your boards?” shouted the man.</p><p><em>Boards?</em>  “Lost them,” she tried.  The pair of them looked at her oddly, but strolled past her.</p><p>“Where now?” asked Lavender. </p><p>“We can’t Apparate here,” replied Ginny.  “Too many people.  Can we keep going for now?”</p><p>“Made it this far,” said Lavender.  Draco didn’t answer.</p><p>They staggered up the beach.  They probably looked very strange, Ginny realised.  No-one here was dressed in robes, for one thing.  The people they could see wore swimwear or casual clothes.  Even though Draco’s clothes would normally have fitted in, they were sopping wet and bedraggled.  His angry expression probably didn’t look right either.  Ginny shrugged mentally.  There was nothing they could do.</p><p>The sand beneath their feet was dry now, and warm.  Ahead of them were some white stone steps, leading up towards the cliffs.  It was a huge effort to clamber up them, and Ginny found herself gritting her teeth.  At the top of the steps was a lane heading inland, rising between two stark rock faces.  The road was sharp stones, painful underfoot.</p><p>There was nobody else using the lane.  Ginny turned slowly, looking around her, at the beach, at the sea.  She could still see the little boat in the distance.  No-one was near them, no-one was looking at them.  She put out her hands to the others.</p><p><em>I’m too tired for this</em>, she told herself, but made herself try anyway.  The first two times she merely wrenched their arms.</p><p>“Don’t mind us,” said Draco, crossly.  “We’re just tired, hungry and thirsty.  And bruised.”</p><p>Ginny wanted to snarl at him, but jammed her mouth shut and tried again.  She only managed to hurt them further, and they were grumbling in pain.  Her wet, heavy robe was an annoyance as well.</p><p>On the fourth attempt they were twisting, and they were outside the Delacours’ house.</p><p>The place seemed deserted.  Her watch told her it was early evening now.  In front of the house, the long outside table, and the chairs tipped up against it, were in shadow. </p><p>“Oh, look,” said Draco.  “The welcoming committee forgot to turn up.”</p><p>“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Lavender.</p><p>She wanted to scream at them both, but then she noticed that, behind the table, the door into the house was wide open, so someone was expecting them.  She led the way into the gloom inside.</p><p>“Hello?” she called. </p><p>Two strange men were standing there.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Cage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny’s reaction was instinctive.  She went for her wand, and when she found she didn’t have it, her anger at Draco – and Lavender as well by now – overflowed.  The man who stepped towards her immediately regretted doing so when she kicked him with all her strength.  Her aim was off, but she connected with his thigh, and he yelled with pain.  Her toes were agony as well.  Someone tried to grab her arm, so she yanked it free, brought her teeth to his hand and bit him as hard as she could.  He was shouting, and the other one had both her arms now, but this time she couldn’t wrench herself free, so she was kicking out with both legs.  She didn’t connect with anything, and there was a purple flash, and everything stopped.</p><p> </p><p>There was a heavy weight on Ginny’s back when she awoke.  A hand, she realised.  She was face down, on grass.  She opened her eyes, and could see figures – well, legs, mostly – gathered around her.  She’d been Stunned again, but this was no longer the main gate at Hogwarts.  There were shouts over her shoulder, but when she tried to turn and look, the hand shoved her downwards.  There was a wand in the corner of her eye, pointing at her. </p><p>She could hear Draco’s voice now, shouting in fear, and yells from Lavender.  Sounds of pain.</p><p>“DRACO!” she shouted, trying to get up, but the hand on her back shook her like a terrier and slammed her back onto the grass.  “Silence!” said someone in French in her ear, a rough, male voice she didn’t recognise.  There was still a babble of sound around her: As well as Draco’s and Lavender’s cries were exclamations and orders, also in French.  And yells.</p><p>“Stop her!”  “Hold her!” “I <em>am</em>!  Get a cage!”  “<em>Stop</em> that!”  “No!”  “Mind her teeth!”  “Watch out!”  “Careful!”  “Door!”  “<em>Get her off you</em>!”  “Get in there!”  She was being dragged upwards, painfully, and carried, and she was struggling, uselessly, and she was being thrown through a metal doorway.  She landed on something soft, which swore at her in Lavender’s voice.  There was a foot stamping on her, painfully, pinning her down again.</p><p>“No!”  That was a different cry she recognised – Draco’s.  “Not in there!”  “<em>No, don’t</em>!”  But the other voices kept shouting too. </p><p>She felt horribly frustrated and powerless without a wand.  She kept trying to fight herself free, but her captor simply weighed too much.  She realised she was shouting, too.  Telling her captor to let her go, swearing at him, threatening him.</p><p>The foot came off her back, and there was a loud slam, from something heavy and metallic.  A shout of triumph.  Other yells, of relief.  But one nearby scream, from Draco.</p><p>“<em>No</em>!” he was shouting, in terror.  “Let me out of here!  You can’t put me in here!  <em>Please</em>!”</p><p>She scrambled over and got to her feet, but the fight was over.  She was in a square cage, barely six foot across, made of vertical bars that gleamed like silver.  The cage was in the middle of a large area of grass - the Delacour’s lawn, she realised.  Draco was in the cage too.  He was gripping the bars of the cage and was still screaming.  He looked terrified.  In one corner was Lavender.  In the early evening light Ginny could see a dark bruise on her face.</p><p>The two men had become half a dozen at least, surrounding the cage, their wands in their hands.  Ginny grabbed the bars and tried to shake them, but they were immovable.   “Let us out of here!” she shouted.  Then again in French.</p><p>One of the large figures put his head close to the bars, aggressively.  “You don’t give the orders here, girl,” he snapped.  “Be silent.”  She reached through the bars and tried to get her fingernails into his face, but he dodged back, easily.</p><p>“Why are we in a cage?” she demanded.  </p><p>“Because you’re being tested,” said the other, flatly.  He was red-faced, with large slabs for cheeks, a small angry mouth and staring eyes. </p><p>“Tested?  What have we done?  We’re innocent!”</p><p>“<em>Innocent</em>?” said red-face.  “You attacked an Auror!”  He pointed, and only then did she notice a second smaller cage.  To her amazement, one of the other men was inside the cage.  He had blood running down his face, and looked angry, and scared. </p><p>“Who are you?” she demanded.  “Let us out of here!”</p><p>“No,” he said.  “You’re under arrest.  Suspected werewolf.”</p><p>“<em>Werewolf!”</em> she cried, turning to look at Lavender, in horror.  But instead of guilty, or hunted, Lavender looked incredibly angry.</p><p>“Werewolf,” said the red-faced man.  “You bit him.”</p><p>“Wait!” said Ginny in horror.  “<em>I’m</em> not a werewolf!”</p><p>“Hear that, men?” said red-face in grim amusement.  “She says she’s not a werewolf.  So we can all go home now, can we?”</p><p>There were a couple of sarcastic laughs. </p><p>“You’re Aurors?” said Ginny, fearfully.</p><p>“We’re Aurors,” confirmed red-face. </p><p>“Look, this was a mistake,” she said loudly.</p><p>“Yes, and we didn’t make it.”</p><p>“Listen!” she said loudly.  “We are here at the invitation of Apolline Delacour!  Who is an Auror!  What you’re doing is illegal!”</p><p>There was a loud crack behind her, and a loud voice.   “What is this?”  A woman’s voice. </p><p>“We’re doing our job,” said the man in front of her, turning towards the new voice.  “So let us get on with it!”</p><p>It was Apolline Delacour.  She looked angry yet apprehensive.</p><p>“You were sent here,” she said coldly, “To protect three visitors…”</p><p>“You don’t give us orders,” said the red-faced man. </p><p>“Do you know who I am?” asked Apolline.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>She drew her wand, and a strange shape appeared from the end of it.  A geometric shape, many-sided, multi-coloured. </p><p>“That doesn’t mean we obey <em>your</em> orders,” said red-face, obstinately.  “And we can arrest you for interfering with ours.”</p><p>“Who are you?” Apolline demanded.</p><p>“Criste,” said the other. </p><p>“Well, Mr Criste,” said Apolline.  “Why are these three in a cage?”</p><p>“Because <em>that</em> one bit Claude,” said Criste, pointing to Ginny.</p><p>“<em>Her</em>?” exclaimed Apolline in surprise.  “No…”</p><p>“So we’re testing them.  All three of them.  And if they’re werewolves, we destroy them.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“Yes.  Here.  Now.  We don’t want her sort here.”</p><p>“No!”  Ginny shouted.  “You can’t!”  She looked fearfully over at Lavender.  The girl was still, her eyes watchful.  Did she know what was happening?  <em>This is my fault!  I persuaded her to come here!</em> </p><p>“Their cases need to be reviewed,” said Apolline, grimly.  “We will have no arbitrary murder done here!”</p><p>“Oh, we’ll do it properly,” said Criste, with relish.  “And you can watch!  They stay in that cage until the next full moon, she turns into a werewolf, she harms someone, we execute her.  That’s the law, <em>Miss</em> <em>Invisible</em>.”</p><p>“That’s barbaric!” Ginny shouted with horror.</p><p>“You should have thought of that before you got your teeth out,” said Criste with relish.  “You’ve got from now until full moon to reflect on your sins.”</p><p>“When’s the next full moon?” Ginny asked, fearfully.  She could see Draco’s and Lavender’s eyes, looking at her.  Judging her, condemning her.  <em>You did this to us</em>, their eyes said.</p><p>“Tonight,” said Apolline, standing like a statue.  “Tonight is a full moon.”</p><p>“Correct, Miss Invisible,” said Criste, with relish.  “Not long now.”</p><p>“Let them out of here!” Ginny shouted in fear.  “They don’t deserve this!  Neither of them!”</p><p>“Quiet!” said Criste.</p><p>“This is my fault!” Ginny said wildly.  “I brought them here!  Let them out!”</p><p>“Ginny, no…” said Apolline.  “We have no choice.  It’s the law.  France is very strict regarding werewolves.  The Aurors have reason to believe one of you is a werewolf, so all of you are tested.”</p><p>“No…” said Ginny, in horror.</p><p>“Let me try something,” Apolline said.  “I’ll do my best.”</p><p>And then she was spinning, and she was gone.</p><p>Suddenly a stick – a thick branch, a couple of inches thick, with a sharpened end – was thrust through the bars, hitting Lavender.  “Right!” said a voice – not Criste’s, one of the other men – “All of you on your feet!”</p><p>“They don’t speak English,” said Ginny.  She pushed herself to her feet, and gestured to Lavender, who stood cautiously as well.  Ginny bent and touched Draco’s shoulder.  “Draco…” she started.</p><p>The stick reappeared and stabbed her in the side.  She tried to grab the stick, but they were too quick, and she was on her hands and knees again, in pain, gasping for breath.  She could feel the warm touch of blood flowing down her skin.</p><p>“Up!” shouted the man.  “All of you!”</p><p>Lavender moved, like lightning:  Her hand came down, dragged powerfully at Draco’s arm, then let go and put both hands in the air.  Her speed didn’t stop her being stabbed at by the stick, although she shied backwards equally quickly.</p><p>“Robes!” shouted the voice.  “Robes off!  Let’s see you!”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?” demanded Ginny.  “Why?”</p><p>“For the werewolf test!  Now!”</p><p>“Go to hell!”</p><p>The stick stabbed Draco this time, who screamed.</p><p>Ginny held her hands up, in surrender.  “Clothes off,” she panted, translating into English.  “He said, take our robes off.”  She got another stab from the stick for her pains.  <em>Why not a spell, instead? </em>she asked herself.  <em>That would hurt less.</em></p><p>Lavender was the quickest of them.  She dragged her robe over her head, dropped it on the floor, and put her hands in the air again.  Ginny could see a great bruise on her stomach.  Ginny made herself stand, straighten and drag her still-wet robe up and off, then drop it next to Lavender’s.</p><p>A stick was prodding at the two robes.  “Kick them over here,” said the man. </p><p>Ginny obediently kicked the robes towards the edge of the cage, and a hand dragged them through the bars.  That left Ginny in her underwear, and Lavender in nothing at all, and both of them turned away to shield themselves.  One of the Aurors was muttering to Criste, who replied out loud.</p><p>“No,” he said.  “We can see if he turns.  Just keep your eyes open.”  He walked away towards the house. </p><p>“Turn around,” said one of the Aurors.  They turned around to face him obediently.  “Good,” he said.  “That’s very good.  No!  Stay on your feet.  And your hands up.  No.  Behind your heads.  Now stay there.”</p><p>“Where would we go?” Ginny snarled, but quietly.  She could feel blood trickling down her side now, and there was no point in getting another stab. </p><p>The man withdrew a few paces, used his wand to conjure a small sofa, sat and stared at them.  Another man sat next to him and stared as well.  There were still others standing around, some talking in groups, two of them talking to the caged Auror, but all of them were staring.  Ginny tried putting her hands down, to cover herself, but the one with the stick brought it up, threateningly, and she put them behind her neck again. </p><p>“What’s going on?” asked Lavender, without moving her mouth.</p><p>Ginny made herself speak, quietly, through frozen lips.  “We’re being tested.  All of us.  To see if we’re werewolves.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?”Lavender and Draco spoke together, and there was a shouted “Silence!” from the nearest Auror.</p><p>There was a long silence.  <em>What do I say?</em> </p><p>“I’m so sorry,” Ginny said.  “I didn’t expect any of this.”</p><p> “It was going to happen,” said Lavender, eventually.  “Sometime soon.  Somewhere.”</p><p>“Draco…” Ginny said fearfully, talking over her, but Draco didn’t respond.  She expected his anger then, but his eyes remained stubbornly on his bare feet. </p><p>She made herself speak once more.  “Draco… When it… When it happens, I want you to stand behind me.  With luck you’ll escape…”</p><p>“Really?” asked Draco, bitterly.  “That’ll make all the difference.”</p><p><em>“QUIET!” </em>shouted one of the Aurors from over Ginny’s shoulder.  The sharp stick was jabbed violently through the bars of the cage, catching Ginny in her other side, so she fell.  “<em>GET UP!”  </em>She made herself stand, although it was hard to stand straight with the pain, and she could feel a fresh trickle of blood where he’d hit her.</p><p>Her final apologies to the other two would have to wait until Lavender transformed.  Until it was too late.</p><p> </p><p>The colour slowly drained out of the sky, and the lawn grew shadowed.  A guard lit his wand, so there was still no opportunity for the captives to move closer to each other, or whisper.</p><p>Ginny could hear Draco silently crying to himself, and her heart welled with pity, and guilt.  And fear, and yet resolve.  And rage.  Where was Apolline?  Why hadn’t she rescued them by now?</p><p>Her skin grew cold.  There was little breeze, and the sky was a montage of sparse, slowly-moving clouds.  Draco’s moans grew shivery.  In all that time, Lavender did not move.  Ginny was hugely conscious of her presence next to her.  The fading of daylight erased any human blemish from Lavender, until she was a grey shadow of perfection.  And yet this beauty was going to wipe out her life, and Draco’s too, if she couldn’t prevent it.  She bore the girl no ill will.  It was not Lavender’s fault she was a werewolf.  And then <em>she</em> would die, as soon as they were dead.</p><p>No, the person she blamed was herself.  Purely.  She hadn’t intended this, but <em>I didn’t mean to</em> was a dreadful, meaningless defence.</p><p>It was a surprise to realise that the moon was already in the sky.  A wedge-shaped cloud showed a gleam behind it, and as she watched, the moonlight grew brighter.</p><p>Ignoring the guards, she stepped purposefully so she was facing Lavender, and pulled Draco behind herself.  A guard made a single guttural objection, but didn’t interfere, to her relief. </p><p>The moonlight turned Lavender’s skin an unearthly silver, forging her into a precious metal statue.  She never moved.  Her eyes were the only darkness.  Even her hair was silvered.  Ginny marvelled at the girl’s beauty.  Her long, near-cylindrical legs.  Her slender, curved stomach, unlike Ginny’s flat belly with its sticky-out hip bones.  Her breasts, grander in the greying light.  <em>Nemesis should be beautiful,</em> Ginny told herself, as she waited for Lavender to transform, and kill them.</p><p>Lavender stiffened, and Ginny decided the end was here.  But nothing happened, and Lavender seemed to be trembling with some emotion: Hunger? Anger?  Pain?  Did it hurt, to transform?</p><p>Ginny realised with a lurch that Lavender was resisting.  Resisting becoming a werewolf.  <em>Is that possible? </em>she asked herself.  <em>For an Animagus werewolf?</em>  But she didn’t let herself hope. </p><p>She could hear noises behind her - comments from the Auror guards, growing louder.  Impatient words:  <em>Get on with it.  She must be changing now.  </em></p><p>Nothing she could do would help Lavender, if the werewolf was fighting her transformation, but Ginny was straining every muscle in sympathy, holding her breath:  Hoping, hoping, hoping.</p><p>Would Draco survive this?  Would she?  Could Lavender? </p><p>The moonlight shone down heartlessly on them all, trying to kill the three of them, and only Lavender could prevent that.  <em>Come on, Lavender.</em></p><p><em>It’s a trick</em>, a loud voice behind her was calling.  <em>It’s a spell to ward off moonlight.</em>  <em>But there’s no such spell</em>, said another.  <em>Werewolves always transform.  Always.</em></p><p>Ginny could hear rapid steps behind her.  She whipped round to face them.  The guard with the stake had it in both hands, raised to strike her through the bars, but as he brought it down Ginny threw herself into the air to wrap her hands around it, to drag it downwards.   The guard was so unexpecting of this that she managed to wrest it from his grip, and she was pulling it into the cage, turning it towards him, snarling at him, threatening him, trying to stab him.</p><p>Lavender spoke, at last.  “<em>No</em>!” she shouted.  “<em>Ginny, don’t be stupid</em>!”</p><p>Instead, Ginny shouted in her turn.  “Keep away!” she shouted at the guard.  “Get away from us!”</p><p>Uncertainly, the guard drew back, out of reach of the stake.  There were others on his shoulder now, shouting at him, and he was turning to expostulate.  The others drew their wands.</p><p><em>“NO</em>!” Ginny screamed at them.  “Wait!”</p><p>She was about to throw the stake between the bars when she heard a sharp crack.  Another voice was shouting, a woman’s voice.  It was Apolline Delacour.   Next to her was a twisted old man, and Apolline had his arm.  <em>No</em>, Ginny realised.  <em>Not that old, just injured.</em>  He was badly mutilated, by some kind of spell damage, she guessed.  He was otherwise whole, and raising his wand.  A loud blast came from it.  “Stop!” he shouted.</p><p>The guards turned in amazement, their shouts fading to silence.  The twisted man flicked his wand once more, and a battered wheelchair appeared behind him.  Apolline helped him collapse into it, until he fought her off in annoyance.  Ginny could see Criste hurrying from the house.</p><p>She turned back to look at Lavender, but the girl was still not a werewolf, even though the full might of the moonlight fell on her.  Ginny could see her jaw was locked with effort, and her limbs were shaking. </p><p>When Lavender suddenly grew dark, Ginny was sure that Lavender had failed, that the transformation was happening, but then she realised that everywhere was dark now.  Looking up, she could see a huge cloud, near-black and ragged-edged, blotting out the moon.  Behind it were other clouds, crowding on the first.  The sky was split in half; One side was velvet darkness, scattered with stars.  The rest of the sky was heavy cloud, advancing majestically to cover the entire heavens.</p><p>“Stop the trial!” Apolline said urgently, turning to the man in the wheelchair.  “Let them out of there!”  A babble from the guards answered her, but Ginny’s eyes turned to the crippled man.  He made a strange hand gesture – a commanding flick – and the guards fell silent. </p><p>He spoke, and his words were as mangled as the rest of him.  “The test continues,” he said.  “Until dawn.  Then release them.”</p><p>“But the clouds…” said one of the Auror guards.</p><p>“If the clouds remain, then they remain.  And all of us with our own eyes saw they did not transform.”</p><p>“But she’s…” Criste broke out, angrily.</p><p>“<em>But</em> we uphold the law,” said the misshapen figure, struggling to his feet.  “We do not break it.”  He turned to glare at Apolline.  “Next time,” he said to her, “Leave me to my sleep.  Goodnight.”  He twisted painfully, and disappeared.  His wheelchair vanished immediately afterwards.</p><p>The Auror guards turned their arguments to Apolline, but she ignored them.  She crossed to the cage, to stare intently at Lavender.  Her expression was unreadable in the darkness.</p><p>Ginny looked over at Lavender as well.  She could see that the girl had relaxed now, and looked wearily tired. </p><p>“I will be back at daybreak,” said Apolline.  She twisted into nothing.</p><p>Ginny felt a huge reaction then.  She was fearfully tired, too.  “Can we sleep, now?” she asked Lavender.  The stake in her hands was heavy now, and she dropped it onto the grass, then sat, shakily.  The grass was cold on her skin.</p><p>“If you want,” said Lavender, shortly.  “But I need to look out for breaks in the clouds.”</p><p>For the rest of the night, the cloud cover remained solid, preventing any gleam of moonlight from breaking through.  All that time, Lavender stayed awake, on her feet, pacing sometimes, and Ginny watched her, fearfully.  Ginny didn’t know how Lavender could hold on, because the lack of sleep – two nights now – was already affecting Ginny’s sense of reality.</p><p>Dawn comes early in July, but not early enough for them.  And when the sun did rise behind the thick clouds, there was no clear herald, but the slowest lightening, so near-black clouds became forbidding grey, then pearl grey, and silver grey, and they knew that they were safe, at last.</p><p>Apolline appeared then, with a crack like a pistol, the sound that meant their long night was over.  Apolline’s quiet voice was like a pealing trumpet in the stillness of the dawn as she ordered the Aurors to stand down, to release their captives into her care, that she was now responsible for them. That they should go, taking their cage with them. </p><p>The Aurors released Claude first, who stumbled over to their cage to give Ginny a black look before spinning into nothing.  One of the Aurors opened their cage so they could climb out, wearily, and then the two cages twisted away, and then the Aurors were gone, too, and they were alone.</p><p>“Sleep, now,” said Apolline.  “No, we are too tired for explanations.  Where are your clothes…?  We will talk later, but I must go now.”</p><p>Silence, beating in Ginny’s ears.  She made for the house, and the others followed.  The effort to climb the stairs seemed to take Ginny’s very last energies.  Here was the room she’d shared with Hermione and Angelina last year. </p><p>“Here,” she said to Lavender, tiredly.</p><p>“Is that it?” asked Lavender, angrily.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Thanks, maybe?” suggested Lavender, annoyed.  “For not killing you?  Sorry, for nearly getting me killed?”</p><p>“I… I’m sorry,” Ginny said miserably.  “I’m too tired to think.  I’m sorry I dragged you into this.  I didn’t expect any of this.”</p><p>“So we just jumped blind, did we?”</p><p>“Where else were we going to go?” Ginny asked, defensively.</p><p>“<em>Go?  I</em> didn’t have to go anywhere.  I could have been safe in Azkaban now, no thanks to you.  What are the chances they’ll be back for another <em>test</em> tomorrow?  I thought you knew what you were doing here.  And you still haven’t said thank you for saving your ungrateful life!”</p><p>“I am grateful!  I don’t know how you did it!  You were amazing!”</p><p>Lavender’s response was to walk into the bedroom and slam the door.  Ginny sighed unhappily.  She reached for Draco’s arm to lead him to the bedroom her parents had shared last time.</p><p>But he shook her off.</p><p>“What?” she asked, puzzled.  “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“The werewolf gets an apology,” he said, bitterly.  “But I don’t?”</p><p>“Oh, no,” she said in despair.</p><p>“Oh no?” he shot back.  “Isn’t <em>Draco</em> being properly grateful?  <em>He</em> doesn’t deserve an apology!  <em>He</em> matters even less than a werewolf!”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Draco!” she managed.  She felt entirely beaten down now.  “I really am!  I’m just so tired at the moment.  I didn’t mean to get you into this.  You matter to me more than anyone.  I wanted you here because I love you, and that was selfish, I suppose.  I’m sorry,” she repeated.  “Really sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t <em>lie</em>!” </p><p>“What?  I’m not lying!”</p><p>“I’ve seen your mind!  I see what you think of me!  <em>Legilimens</em> doesn’t lie!  And it’s not love!”</p><p>“I <em>do</em> love you,” she tried to insist.  “OK, I can’t prove it, and I don’t know what you saw in my mind.  But it feels like love to me!”</p><p>“It’s not love,” said Draco bitterly.  “It’s just sex.  And I was stupid enough to get my throat nearly torn out, just for that.”</p><p>“I didn’t <em>plan</em> this Draco!”  she wailed.  “<em>I</em> think I <em>do</em> love you!  I really do!  Maybe my mind was lying.  Maybe you didn’t realise the truth you were seeing!  I don’t know!”</p><p>“Stop <em>blubbing</em>,” he said angrily.  He stepped into the bedroom and slammed the door. </p><p>She wanted to scream then, with pain, with anger, with longing.  She desperately wanted his arms around her.  She needed him.  She gritted her teeth, so she couldn’t cry out, so she couldn’t cry. </p><p>She realised she was crouched on the floor in front the bedroom door, her arms wrapped around her knees.  The floor seemed to be moving, which had to be her imagination.  She used her arm to dry her eyes, realising she was still only clad in underwear.  Her eyes blinded by moisture, she stumbled along the corridor until she found another bedroom, an empty bed.  She crept under the covers, and wrapped her arms around herself tightly.    It took an age for her to fall asleep.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Aftershocks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her dreams were vivid, despite her exhaustion.  She was running through the Forbidden Forest, with Harry, but the centaurs were catching up, and he was handing her over to them, and they were hurrying her along even faster.  She could see Dean Thomas in the distance, watching, but then he was turning away.  Not if you’ve been with a centaur, he was saying.  Draco was riding Buckbeak far above her, but then he was diving down on her, and the Hippogriff’s hooves were knocking her down, and here came a werewolf, not Lavender but Emerald, and she was tearing at Ginny’s throat…</p><p>She awoke with a start, with the sun in her eyes.  She looked up at the strange ceiling, couldn’t recognise it, and gazed around in confusion.  Where…?</p><p>Her dreams turned to memories.  A horde of Dementors clustering around her.  Dawlish yelling at her.  Her wand flying from her hand.  Skating endlessly through the threatening mist…  The cage…</p><p>France!  This was France!</p><p>She could see the sun shining fiercely above a line of trees.  She hadn’t shut the curtains.</p><p>Only then did she remember Draco’s and Lavender’s anger, their bitter words, although not why they’d been angry.  <em>I need to go and grovel, I suppose</em>, she told herself in irritation<em>.  </em>She pushed herself out of bed.  She was stiff and sore, the cuts she’d received stinging badly, the bruises nagging at her as well. </p><p>She hadn’t closed the door onto the landing, but, strangely, as she reached out, it slammed open.  <em>A gust of wind</em>, she thought in confusion.  But the house seemed still. </p><p><em>Still no clothes, </em>she realised.  <em>Do I want to grovel that much?</em></p><p><em>Yes</em>, she decided.  <em>If I can get Draco back.  </em></p><p>She stepped out onto the corridor, in silence.  She had no idea of the time.  They hadn’t gone to bed until well after dawn.  Was it afternoon now?</p><p>Here was the bedroom Draco had entered, with the door still closed.  She put her hand out to the door, but even before she’d touched the door handle the door slammed open.  She could see Draco sit bolt upright, and blink with surprise, and then annoyance.</p><p>“Sorry,” said Ginny.  “The breeze must have caught it.”</p><p>“What time is it?” he asked, pulling the sheets up around himself.</p><p>Ginny’s watch was still on her wrist, but read just before seven.  “No clue,” she said.  She tried climbing into bed next to him, but he was clambering out the other side, his face set now.</p><p>“Am I disturbing anything?” said Lavender’s voice from the door.  She was naked, annoyingly, and although Draco didn’t seem to want to look at Ginny, he was staring at Lavender.</p><p>“No,” Ginny said, annoyed at the pair of them.  Draco picked up his shirt and tried to put it on, but a random gust of wind was blowing around him, and he couldn’t reach the second armhole, until Lavender crossed the room to help him, forestalling Ginny’s move towards him.  But he stepped rapidly away from both of them, snatched up his trousers and wrestled with those as the wind buffeted around him, but this time Lavender crossed her arms and let him struggle. </p><p>“My,” said Ginny, still sitting in Draco’s bed.  “We’re one happy family this morning.”</p><p>Draco managed to finish dressing, and was even angrier by the time he’d finished.  “Stop that,” he said to Ginny.</p><p>“Stop what?” Ginny asked in annoyance.</p><p>“The stupid games,” he groused.  “Blowing things around.”</p><p>“<em>Me</em>?” she said in surprise.  “<em>I’m </em>not doing anything.”</p><p>“Where’s that ridiculous breeze coming from, then?” he demanded.</p><p>Ginny held up her hands in confusion and annoyance.  “No wand, remember?” she said.  But the door suddenly slammed shut, and Lavender had to dodge out of its way.  The werewolf stepped back, pulled open the door in irritation, and stalked through it.  It slammed behind her.  Draco gave Ginny a twisted expression of surprise and fear, and made for the door.  It swung open before he could reach it, and as soon as he had hurried through it, the door slammed again, even more loudly. </p><p>Ginny hurried out of Draco’s bed in annoyance, and the door flung itself open before she got there.  “It’s not me!” she shouted through it.  “Nothing to do with me!”</p><p>She couldn’t remember anything of the sort happening here last summer.  The thought of a nude Lavender alone with Draco disturbed her, so she hurried downstairs.  Lavender was searching the cupboards in the kitchen, leaving them open as she foraged, while Draco watched, still annoyed.</p><p>“No food,” said Lavender over her shoulder.  “Nothing.  Are we meant to starve here?”</p><p>“So how’s that my fault?” Ginny shot back. </p><p>The remaining closed cupboard doors flew open, showing a complete absence of food, and then all of them slammed shut.  The other two turned and stared at her, wide-eyed. </p><p>“Let’s leave her to it,” said Lavender over her shoulder to Draco, and stalked out of the room, and Draco hurried after her.  Ginny caught up with them outside. </p><p>“No clothes,” said Lavender, roaming angrily across the lawn.  “No food.  Slamming doors.  Welcome to France.” </p><p>“Our robes should be somewhere,” said Ginny, trying to soothe, trying to be reasonable.</p><p>“Oh?” snapped Lavender.  “Where?  Looks like your pervy friends took them.”</p><p>Ginny’s anger was distracted when she felt herself tugged unexpectedly sideways.  The trees were shaking noisily, yet there was no wind now.  She could feel a rumble beneath her, and see that Lavender was having trouble remaining on her feet.  As Ginny watched, she fell to her knees and clawed at the grass beneath her.  Draco was crouching, too. </p><p>“You’re leaking!” Lavender shouted in annoyance.  “Just calm down!”</p><p>“Leaking?” Ginny echoed in surprise.  “Leaking what?”</p><p>“Magic!” called Lavender.  “Like when you were a kid!”</p><p>“What are you talking about?”  This was Draco, but Ginny’s angry thoughts were the same.</p><p>“Before you…” began Lavender, but stopped when the ground gave another shake that nearly toppled Ginny over.  “Before you get a wand, magic just leaks, sometimes!  Don’t you remember?”</p><p>“No!” said Ginny in surprise.  “Nothing like this!”</p><p>“Nor me,” said Draco.</p><p>“You’re both purebloods,” said Lavender.  “You were always near wands when you were young!  But when I used to get angry, strange things happened!”</p><p>“Wind and earthquakes?” demanded Ginny.</p><p>“Other things,” said Lavender.  She got to her feet, cautiously.  “Things breaking.”</p><p>“How do you stop it?” asked Draco.</p><p>“Don’t get angry, mostly,” said Lavender.</p><p>“So why isn’t this your fault?” demanded Ginny.</p><p>“You’re the one who’s angry,” said Lavender.</p><p>“<em>Me?</em>” snarled Ginny in disbelief.  “I’m not…”  The ground was snatched from her feet once more, and she tumbled.  The ground was jolting beneath her. </p><p>“Just keep away from us,” called Draco.  He sounded upset, scared.</p><p>“Fine!” snapped Ginny.  “Fine!”  She got to her feet, which was hard with the ground still moving, and ran with difficulty down the track that led to the lake.  As she ran, the ground stilled beneath her, and it became easier.  Here was the lake, unchanged from last year.  She could see little waves disturbing the water, but then they settled into lines of ripples, and the surface grew entirely smooth. </p><p><em>This can’t be right</em>, she thought.  <em>This is just Lavender playing games</em>.  <em>And Draco playing along with her.  Why are they doing this?</em></p><p>The ground tugged once more, and then it was shaking, and there were waves moving across the surface of the lake, the water suddenly choppy and uneven.</p><p><em>OK!</em> she said to herself in irritation.  <em>I’ll keep calm, and the earthquakes will start again.  Because this can’t be my fault.</em></p><p>She waded crossly into the water and kicked at it, and was rewarded by the ground tugging beneath her, so she fell on her face into the water.  She could hear the leaves on the trees threshing, but there was no wind.  She cursed, but then she found it was a pleasure to be in cool water, and she could swim.  The trees had stopped shaking, and the water was calm apart from the ripples surrounding her.  <em>Maybe Lavender’s wrong</em>, she decided.  <em>Maybe it’s stopped because I’m not touching the ground.</em>  Somehow comforted by this new-grown superstition, she swam around the lake.  The others didn’t appear, which pleased and annoyed her at the same time.  <em>No</em>, she told herself.  <em>I’m going to stay calm.</em></p><p>She got bored after a while – she wasn’t a sufficiently good swimmer to take much pleasure from solitary swimming – and she cautiously made for the shore.  She stepped onto solid ground uncertainly, but the ground didn’t start moving. </p><p>
  <em>I need to find out what Lavender and Draco are doing.</em>
</p><p><em>No</em>, said a different voice inside her, a part of her that was still scared by what was happening around her.  <em>Maybe I need to keep away from them.  </em>Could Lavender be right?</p><p>She resolved to stay at the beach, and remain calm.  She made herself lie down on the little beach, but then she was pushing herself upright again.  Although the hot sun was drying her skin, her underwear was wet and cold, so she glanced around – no-one was in sight – removed both halves, wrung them out and left them to dry while she lay back down.</p><p>She felt calmer now, less anxious, less angry, and the ground was solid once more.</p><p><em>Just chance</em>, she told herself.  <em>Maybe they get earthquakes around here sometimes.</em>  She closed her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>She was back in the cage, but on her own now, and she was covered in black fur.  Outside the cage were dark unknown figures, and then a face she recognised:  Lavender, a stake in her hand and she was thrusting it between the bars, stabbing at Ginny.  Ginny found she was snarling, trying to bat the stake with her hand – no, her paw – and a hand was on her shoulder, shaking her.  She turned to attack, and found Lavender kneeling next to her, a look of irritation on her face.</p><p>“You’re still doing it,” said Lavender.  Ginny could see Draco behind Lavender, still looking annoyed and frightened.</p><p>“Doing what?” Ginny shot back.</p><p>“Making the ground shake,” called Draco.</p><p>“I was asleep…” Ginny said, defensively.</p><p>“Were you having a nightmare?” asked Lavender.</p><p>Ginny didn’t feel like answering that, so she sat up in irritation.  <em>Can’t I even sleep, now?</em></p><p>“You didn’t tell us about the lake,” said Lavender. </p><p>“Sorry,” said Ginny, ungraciously.</p><p>Lavender shrugged.  “I’m going for a swim,” she said.  “How about you?”</p><p>“No thanks,” said Ginny, grumpily. </p><p>Lavender turned towards Malfoy.  “Draco?”  He shook his head.  Lavender walked out into the water and swam, and Draco watched her nude figure go.  <em>Don’t get angry</em>, Ginny told herself.  But then:  <em>This is still a trick, isn’t it?</em></p><p>She patted the sand next to her.  “Sit,” she called to Draco.  “It’s nice here.”</p><p>He looked uncertain, and annoyed about something, but eventually he shrugged and sat, but a few yards from her, and gazed out at the lake, to where Lavender was swimming.</p><p><em>Keep your temper, Ginny.</em>  “If you lie down,” she said, “You can’t stare at Lavender, and I won’t get angry.”</p><p>She could see he didn’t like this.  He stood, but to her surprise crossed to be closer to her, then sat and lay down.  “Is that better?” he asked.  He didn’t sound pleased.</p><p>“Yes,” said Ginny, lying down as well. </p><p>“So it hasn’t happened before?” he asked.  He still sounded unhappy.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Maybe I should go back,” he said.  “Back home.”</p><p>“Just leave me here?” she said, immediately angry again.</p><p>“I don’t mean…”  He stopped, annoyed.  “We were going to have to split up, remember?” he said.  “Because of what happened to Goyle.”</p><p><em>Don’t you love me any more? </em>she wanted to ask, but couldn’t.  <em>I must keep calm.</em>  But the ground lurched beneath them, and there were waves spreading across the lake.  She could hear a shout of annoyance from Lavender.</p><p>“This is nothing to do with Goyle,” she snapped, then immediately regretted it.  Trying for calm, she asked: “What are you afraid of?”</p><p>There was silence then.  The ripples across the lake were subsiding into mirror flatness, and the ground was calm. </p><p>“Plenty of things,” Draco said eventually.  “Of dying, like Geoff Goyle.  Or dying in a cage with a werewolf.”</p><p>“And?” Ginny demanded.  She could see Lavender’s head as she swam slowly through the now-flat waters.</p><p>“And what?” asked Draco, defensively.</p><p>“And me?” she asked in turn.  She could feel the anger building, and she mustn’t let it.  “Afraid of earthquakes, and waves, and slamming doors?”  <em>I’m calm</em>, she told herself firmly.</p><p>“And drowning,” said Draco, sullenly.  “Or being run down by a huge Muggle boat.  Or a werewolf <em>not</em> in a cage.  I saw…”  He stopped, abruptly and sat up.</p><p><em>I’m calm</em>, Ginny repeated to herself.  “Saw what?”  What else had scared him?</p><p>He didn’t reply for some time, and when she sneaked a look at him, she could see him staring out across the lake, at Lavender, his arms wrapped around his knees.  “I saw us at peace,” he said, suddenly.  “Now the war’s over.  The two of us.  In safety.  But wherever you go… Wherever you go, you find danger, and death.  They come find you.  Or you go looking for them.  Whatever.”</p><p>“I don’t,” Ginny said, unsteadily, afraid now.  “I don’t go looking for trouble.  That’s just the world we live in.”</p><p>“It was a relief, you know,” he said, apparently ignoring this.  He still wouldn’t look at her.  “The Dark Lord was dead, and I wasn’t.  My parents weren’t.  We were on the losing side, but at least we were alive.  I thought we were safe.  At last.  And now they’re dead…”</p><p>“Draco, I’m sorry!  Haven’t I said I’m sorry?  And I love you!”  She was shouting, she realised.  The ground vibrated beneath her feet.</p><p>He shouted back.  “No!  You don’t!  You don’t love me!  You still love <em>him</em>!”</p><p>He turned to look at her at last.  “I don’t want to live like that, OK?” he said, pleadingly.  “I want to…  I can’t go home, I know that.  But if I can’t, I don’t want to spend my life afraid.  Even though you’re…”  He stopped.</p><p>“So you’re a coward,” she said flatly.</p><p>“Yes!  A coward!  Or maybe <em>I’m</em> the sensible one here.  Normal.  Because I want to stay alive.  In peace.  Why is that wrong?”</p><p>“Even though I’m <em>what</em>?” she asked instead.  “What were you going to say?”</p><p>He was staring out at the lake, at Lavender’s shadowed head.  He was rocking back and forth unhappily.  “Even…” he started, but got no further.  More rocking.  “Even though you’re a Weasley.   I should have been safe with you, because of that, if they came for me.  But now I’m not.”</p><p>There was a horrible sensation in Ginny now.  A revulsion, a heaviness.  Her face turned to clay.  “I thought you loved me,” she said, feeling stupid now.</p><p>He glanced briefly at her, his expression unhappy.  “I do.  You know I do.  You’ve seen my memories.  I’m just not…”</p><p>“Not what?”  The ground was vibrating beneath her, alarming her.</p><p>“Not brave enough,” he said.  He stood, still looking at the lake, which was covered with foaming waves now, then turned and walked away, into the woods.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Visitor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So what was that about?” Lavender’s voice, behind her.  Ginny was still sitting on the sand, staring at the lake.  Its beauty had gone for her now.  She turned to see Lavender standing above her.</p><p>“Couldn’t you hear?” Ginny demanded in annoyance.</p><p>“Is it true?  You don’t love him?”</p><p>“No!  I mean, I do love him!”</p><p>“So why did he say that?”</p><p>“He… He saw my mind.  He says, he saw I don’t love him, that I still love Harry.”</p><p>“You let him see your <em>mind</em>?”</p><p>“I saw his,” said Ginny, defensively.  “And he loves me.  I know he does.”</p><p>“He’s a Death Eater!”</p><p>“He was just on the wrong side!  And I’ve seen inside <em>his</em> mind.  He let me see everything!  There was nothing evil there.”</p><p>“And you believed him.”</p><p>“That’s… That’s what <em>Legilimens does</em>!” insisted Ginny, angrily.  “It shows you their memories!  All of them!”</p><p>“All?”</p><p>“Everything!  Everything I wanted to see, and things I didn’t!  Him with Pansy, him with <em>Millicent</em>, for Merlin’s sake!”  Ginny had a sudden memory.  “And you kissing him!  What was that about?”</p><p>Lavender stepped back, warily.  “What else did you see?” she asked.</p><p>“About <em>you</em> and <em>him</em>?  What else was there to see?”</p><p>“That’s none of your business,” said Lavender, flatly.</p><p>“I need to know!”</p><p>“Get your wand out, then,” said Lavender, sarcastically.  She folded her arms.  “<em>Legilimens</em> me!”</p><p>“Have you and Draco…?”</p><p>Lavender’s mouth twisted, and her eyes broke contact with Ginny’s.  Eventually she spoke.  “No.  And now I’m a werewolf it won’t happen.”</p><p>“But if you weren’t?” Ginny asked fearfully.</p><p>“If I wasn’t a werewolf, I wouldn’t be here.”</p><p>“So… Why didn’t you?  Before you were a werewolf?”</p><p>“Ask Draco,” said Lavender, definitely.</p><p>“No thanks,” said Ginny.  Lavender’s skin was pale, unsurprisingly, but she looked good, standing naked in the sun.  Her breasts were better than Ginny’s, her torso elegant.  The ground was vibrating again, disturbingly.  “He’s not like you,” Ginny said, dully.  “Things were calming down for him.  He’s got more to lose, coming over here.”</p><p>“More to lose than being executed?” asked Lavender, glaring at her. </p><p>“Sorry, no,” said Ginny, guiltily.  “I didn’t mean that.  But you’ve had the test now!  You’re OK!”</p><p>“<em>Am</em> I?” asked Lavender, acidly.  “That’s nice.”</p><p>“Meaning what?” asked Ginny, worried now. </p><p>Lavender didn’t look at her.  Eventually she sighed.  “If you’re a werewolf,” she said.  “You’re on borrowed time.  Not just here.  Anywhere.  You know that - some time or other - they’re going to put you out of their misery.  Maybe Azkaban’s the best deal around.”</p><p>“So live for the moment,” Ginny offered.  “Enjoy the sun while it’s here.”</p><p>Lavender barked a wolf-like laugh.  “OK,” she said.  “This beats a cell.  As soon as some food turns up, anyway.  Do you trust her?”</p><p>“Who?  Apolline?  Yeah, I do.  She’s Fleur’s mother, for one thing.”</p><p>“Families fight.”</p><p>“True, but they don’t let other families get involved.  I think you’re safe, here.  You’re family now, near enough.”</p><p>“Possibly,” allowed Lavender.</p><p>“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” asked Ginny, hopefully.</p><p>“Maybe,” said Lavender again.  She turned and stepped back into the lake, and swam away.</p><p> </p><p>Ginny pushed herself to her feet and trudged back to the house, in the vague hope that Draco would be there.  She was on the threshold into the house when there was a loud crack behind her.  She whirled, fearing the Aurors were back, but was relieved to see Apolline.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” said Apolline.  “I was delayed.  Where are the others?”</p><p>“Around,” said Ginny, annoyed.  “Blaming me because they nearly died, because there’s no food here, because we haven’t got any clothes, because everything!”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” repeated Apolline, wearily.  “But you have not made it easy for us.  You shouldn’t have bitten that Auror.  And now I’m having to fight for you.”</p><p>“So it’s my fault,” snapped Ginny.  “Everything’s my fault!”  She found there were tears in her eyes, and she dashed them away with her arm.  The ground was shaking, but Apolline didn’t seem to notice.</p><p>“You are wanted by your country’s Ministry of Magic,” said Apolline, remorselessly.  “Which shouldn’t matter here, I agree.  But it makes things more difficult.”</p><p>“And I’m here with a werewolf,” Ginny said, crossly.  “And a Death Eater!”</p><p>Apolline shook her head.  “That’s not the problem.  In fact…”  Apolline paused, her eyes on Ginny.  “In fact I am here to collect them both.”</p><p>“Collect <em>them</em>?  What for?”</p><p>“We have needs for them,” said Apolline, uncomfortably.</p><p>“And not me?” Ginny asked in disbelief.</p><p>“I am sorry.”</p><p>“Need them for what?”  The ground shook briefly, but it was hard to rein in her anger, her huge sense of injustice.</p><p>“What was that?” Apolline’s head snapped around, her expression grew puzzled.</p><p>“Nothing,” said Ginny, sourly, fighting to control her own anger.  “So you can use a werewolf and a Voldemort supporter, but not me.”</p><p>“Ginny, I invited you here because I wanted to give you a job,” said Apolline.  “I still do.  But it will take a while.”</p><p>“An hour?  A day?  A month?”</p><p>“A week,” Apolline admitted.  “At most.  Not today, anyway.  Now please fetch the others.”</p><p>“I don’t know where Draco is,” Ginny said with sullen rage.  “And Lavender’s at the pond.  But what am<em> I</em> supposed to do in the meantime?”</p><p>“Please be patient, as best you can.”</p><p> </p><p>Apolline wasted no time.  She twisted down to the lake, and came back with both Lavender and Draco, the pair of them looking confused.  At a stroke of Apolline’s wand, grey robes appeared out of the air, and veered into their arms. </p><p>As soon as they were dressed, Apolline took hold of both of them.  She was about to twist when Ginny called out.  “Wait!” she shouted.  “There’s no food…  And I need clothes…” </p><p>Apolline produced her wand and flicked it, twice.  Something white dropped out of the air in front of Ginny, who caught it as the other three disappeared with a crack.</p><p>“Wait,” Ginny said forlornly, but it was too late.</p><p>The white bundle wasn’t a robe, but it was even less than that:  It was a plain white dressing gown, made of a soft material.  In rage, she threw the dressing gown to the ground, stomped angrily into the house, ignoring the trembling floor, then into the kitchen – and found the table there was covered in food.  The cupboards, when she investigated, were no longer empty, but bulged with food too.</p><p>She couldn’t help herself grabbing the nearest thing she could reach and  burying her teeth into it -an incredibly fragrant stick of bread - and while she chomped that she found a casserole of cooked chicken.  She was stuffing pieces of that into her mouth, but with the floor constantly tugging at her feet she couldn’t stay in the house.  She picked up the casserole and some more sticks of bread, stretched her remaining fingers around a bottle of stuffed olives, and hurried back down to the lake, the ground moving under her continually.</p><p>Eating helped: The ground stopped moving as her hunger diminished.  Ginny opened the bottle of olives and started picking out olives and eating them.  “Olives, everybody?” she asked the empty lake.  But she was still too angry to eat any more of them, and started throwing them as hard as she could into the lake, one at a time, and then the entire bottle. </p><p>By the time the bottle hit the water and sank she was shrieking with anger, and frustration, and despair, and the ground was shaking continually.</p><p><em>I have to stop</em>, she told herself, repeatedly.  <em>I have to.</em></p><p>But instead she was yelling, wordlessly, then screaming until her throat hurt, as the ground vibrated beneath her feet, and the lake surface turned to froth and waves hit the beach in front of her.  Then she was crying.</p><p>She tried not to think about Draco with Lavender, together now, with Apolline.   The werewolf squirming with desire.  <em>No</em>, she tried to tell herself.  <em>Think of something else.</em>  <em>This is just a trick, isn’t it</em>? <em>A game.  They’re all in it together.</em></p><p>There were breaking waves around her feet now.</p><p>Harry used to play such games.  OK, not games exactly, but holding the reins on their relationship.  She’d played her own games too, she remembered, not letting him have her, tantalising him.  <em>Was that why he left me</em>?  she wondered.  <em>Because I wouldn’t let him make love to me?  Why didn’t I?  It wouldn’t have mattered, really.  It’s just a bit of fun.  But I don’t need it.</em></p><p>But she knew that was a lie.  She needed it right now.  She could taste her own desire. </p><p>She was screaming again, until she had no breath, and she was on her knees, sobbing.</p><p>“Are you OK?”  The voice was to her right, and she turned her head.  The voice was French, and feminine.  Ginny could see a head now, poking out from behind a tree fifty yards away.  Then the figure stepped out into the open, and walked hesitantly towards her.  Ginny dashed the tears from her eyes, out of embarrassment as well as the need to see.  The lake was subsiding, and the ground was steady.</p><p>It was a girl, slightly older than Ginny, she judged, dark haired, stick-thin, with a small, serious face, and strange hexagonal steel-framed glasses. </p><p>“Did you feel that?” asked the girl, wide-eyed.  “An earthquake, here!  Were you scared?”</p><p>The girl was dressed in grey and black – jumper and narrow skirt, ankle boots – hardly sensible clothing for the heat of the day.</p><p>Not that Ginny was in a position to critique another’s clothing.  She made herself take deep breaths, and calm down, and talk reasonably. “I’m fine,” she managed.</p><p>“I should not intrude,” said the girl.</p><p>“No, it’s OK,” said Ginny.  She realised she needed the company.</p><p>The girl came to a halt in front of her.  Her eyes behind the spectacles took in every detail of Ginny, embarrassing her, but Ginny found she couldn’t turn away, or even cover herself.  And she couldn’t see her underwear anywhere.</p><p>“I was watching,” said the girl.  “You and them.”</p><p>“Oh,” said Ginny.  “We weren’t really doing anything.”  She tried to look relaxed, used to being naked, and stared at.</p><p>“It was hard to get here,” said the girl.  “But I could hear you talking… and arguing… so I came to see.  I didn’t even know this lake was here,” she added, looking around.  “But I came to a gap in the trees, and it was like I was stuck in brambles, but there weren’t any brambles.  But because… because of what I heard, I kept trying.  What is this place?” </p><p>The glasses gave the girl a cool elegance, Ginny decided.  And she was enticingly lean.</p><p>“We’re just staying here,” said Ginny.  “Well, it’s just me now.  So what’s your name?”</p><p>The girl hesitated.   “I’m Charlotte,” she said eventually. </p><p>“I’m Ginny.”  She made herself stand, turn away, and saunter into the shallows.</p><p>“I’m here with my brother,” said Charlotte behind her.  “But he’s gone back to university.  He’s studying economics.”</p><p>“Oh?” said Ginny weakly, not understanding any of this.</p><p>There was an uncomfortable silence.  <em>What do I say?  </em>Ginny knelt down, casually.  The cool water felt good against her legs.</p><p>“Can I ask you something?” Charlotte asked uncertainly, kneeling on the sand.</p><p>“Ask me what?”  Ginny tried to smile, encouragingly.</p><p>“Doesn’t it bother you, not having any clothes on?”</p><p><em>What do I say?</em>  “No,” said Ginny, trying for nonchalance.  “You can take yours off, if you like.”  <em>Should I have said that?</em>  But Ginny was feeling a strange hunger now.  The girl’s slenderness…</p><p>“Are you part of a cult?” Charlotte’s words were a confiding whisper.</p><p>“A what?” </p><p>Charlotte continued to look at her, her eyes everywhere.  “Yes,” she said.  “One of those secret cults, where people live in communes, and they’re apart from the outside world.  I mean, you seem like that, because you’re strange, and when I talked about Olivier, you didn’t understand one word I was saying.”</p><p><em>If the cap fits</em>…  “Yes,” said Ginny.  “Sort of.  Would you like to go for a swim?”  She felt a fierceness in her now, a hope that the girl would come closer.</p><p>“And is <em>he</em> your charismatic leader?  The one you have to obey, and can’t escape?”</p><p>“<em>Draco</em>?  No, he’s my boyfriend.  Well, he was.”</p><p>“Oh,” said Charlotte, sounding disappointed.  “So who’s your charismatic leader, then?”</p><p>“Well…” started Ginny, uncertainly.</p><p>“Are you not allowed to talk about it?”</p><p>“No,” said Ginny, on firmer ground now.  “No, I can’t say anything about it.  How about that swim?”</p><p>“So have you always lived here?  Or were you in England?  <em>You</em> are French, I think, but they are English.  I’m no good at English, but I recognised the language.  Were they forcing you to do things you didn’t want?  Like abase yourself before your leader?   And <em>him</em>?  It must be very exciting, if a little scary.  Do you ever wear clothes?” she asked with an expression of intense curiosity.</p><p>“Well,” said Ginny.  “Normally.  It’s just that I haven’t got many clothes at the moment.  We… We came here in a hurry.”</p><p>“Some time you must tell me your story!” exclaimed Charlotte.  “If you can of, course.”</p><p>“Not really,” admitted Ginny.  “But you can tell me yours,” she said in a rush.</p><p>Charlotte’s face was immediately glum.  “My life is very dull.  Very boring.  There is nothing to tell.”</p><p>“But it’s not dull to me,” Ginny said truthfully.  “I don’t know anything about how you live.”</p><p>“That is a very strange thought,” said Charlotte, still examining her. </p><p>“Look,” said Ginny, suddenly impatient.  “Aren’t you hot, dressed like that?” </p><p>“I haven’t got a swimming costume here,” said the girl, nervously.  “I could get one, I suppose.  Our house is that way,” she added, gesturing towards the trees. </p><p>“Why bother?” suggested Ginny.  “You don’t need one.” </p><p>“I’m not like you,” said Charlotte, awkwardly.  “I’d be embarrassed.”</p><p>“It’s only us,” said Ginny.  She climbed to her feet and waded towards the girl.  Charlotte gazed at her, mesmerised.  Ginny reached out and took her hand.  “Try it,” urged Ginny.  “It’s great.”</p><p>Charlotte broke eye contact and looked down at their linked hands.  “No,” she said.  But she didn’t object or recoil when Ginny gave her a dry kiss.  Ginny took her other hand.</p><p>“Would you like to go to a party?” asked Charlotte, suddenly, loudly.</p><p>“A party?”</p><p>“Do you know what a party is?”  They were still standing there, hands linked.</p><p>“Yes, but…”</p><p>“There is a party this evening.  Olivier and I are invited, but he...  It is for the Rugby club.”</p><p>“Rug what?”</p><p>Charlotte laughed.  “This is so strange.  Yes, Rugby, where big men fight each other for a ball.  Women too, now.  They are very… uncontrolled parties.  People behave badly.  I would not normally ask a stranger to one, but I think you like to behave badly, too.”</p><p>“I haven’t done anything yet,” said Ginny.  She tried to kiss Charlotte more lengthily, but the girl ducked her head and broke away, stepping back from the water’s edge.</p><p>“Don’t <em>you</em> behave badly, then?” Ginny asked.  “At the parties, I mean?”</p><p>“<em>Me</em>?  No!  But I like to go.”</p><p>“And watch?  Like you’re watching me?”</p><p>Charlotte’s face was red again.  “Sometimes.”</p><p>“Why not, though?  Why not behave badly?” Ginny urged.</p><p>But Charlotte merely waved that away, dismissively.  “I am not like that.  Drinking too much.  Undressing in front of men, showing off my body.  I… don’t have anything to show off.  And lots of different men.  Have you had lots of different men?  No, sorry, that is a bad question…”</p><p>“I’ve had lots of boyfriends…”</p><p>“I am sure!  You are very beautiful!”</p><p>“…But it hasn’t been much, until Draco.  And <em>I’m </em>not beautiful.”  Now Ginny was blushing.  “But I had a girlfriend once,” she said.  Was that too obvious?</p><p>“Yes!  You are beautiful!  And you are a redhead!  Redheads are…”  Charlotte stopped abruptly.</p><p>“Are what?”</p><p>“Are… are… naughty, I wanted to say.  But that is wrong.  That is unfair.  But… but redheads always seem to know those things.”</p><p>“But you’re very pretty.  Very slender.”  Ginny reached out her hands and put them on Charlotte’s hips.</p><p>Charlotte stepped backwards, out of Ginny’s reach.  “The glasses…” she said.</p><p>“Which do you prefer?” asked Ginny, abandoning any subtlety.  “Boys?  Girls?”</p><p>“Men, I think,” said Charlotte.  “Are you offering?”</p><p>“Offering?”</p><p>“Do you like girls?” said Charlotte, staring at her intently. </p><p><em>Doesn’t she listen?</em>  “Yes, I like girls.”  Ginny was impatient now.  “Let’s swim,” she suggested.  “It’s so nice at the moment.”</p><p>Charlotte looked dubiously at the lake.  “Is it clean?”</p><p>“I think so.  We used it all last summer.”</p><p>“And it is not full of dead branches to catch you?”</p><p>“No… I think they clear the branches out,” Ginny said uncertainly.</p><p>“They must be very rich, this cult of yours.”</p><p>Ginny stepped backwards, holding out her hands in invitation.  “Are you going to join me?”</p><p>Charlotte eyed her censoriously.  “It is easy for you, I think.  You just walk into the water like that.  It is very sexy, though,” she admitted.</p><p>“So take your clothes off, too.”</p><p>“Won’t your friends come back?”</p><p>“No,” Ginny said, suddenly angry again.  To her relief the ground didn’t move beneath her feet, but she hurried anxiously into the water and swam.   “Come on, Charlotte,” she called. “Give it a try!”  She swam a few strokes, then turned to look at Charlotte.  The girl looked very small now, against the trees.  Her eyes were wide, staring uncertainly at Ginny. </p><p>“I will swim,” said Charlotte.  “But that is all.”  She stepped closer to the lake, then crouched down to unzip and remove her boots.  She was wearing dark tights, and she reached under her skirt to pull them off.</p><p>“Don’t look,” she said severely. </p><p>“You were staring at me,” Ginny pointed out.</p><p>Charlotte gave a mischievous grin.  “I’ve never seen a redhead before.”  But she was pulling her jumper over her head, revealing a neat bra, and unzipping her skirt.  “I should hide these somewhere,” she commented.  “In case your friends come back and take them.”</p><p>“They’re fine there,” said Ginny.  “Are you going to swim in those?”</p><p>“No…”  Charlotte took a deep breath, reached behind herself then slid her bra down her arms.  Then she put her fingers to her briefs and ducked to skin them down her legs.  She straightened.  “There.  See?  Do you want to stare?”  She looked uncertain.</p><p>Ginny felt a sting of envy.  The girl’s figure was lovely.  Beautifully slender.  Her breasts were minimal, her narrow hips the merest widening of her torso, yet her figure was intensely feminine.  </p><p>Ginny’s mouth was dry now.  “You’re lovely,” Ginny said huskily. </p><p>Charlotte eyed her with disfavour.  “Please stop staring,” she said.</p><p>“Sure!” Ginny said hastily.  “Look, let’s just have a swim, OK?  Are you going to keep your glasses on?”</p><p>Charlotte’s features were small but nondescript without her glasses, Ginny saw.  The books she’d read as a child were full of specky geese becoming swans when it finally occurred to them to take off their glasses, but Charlotte’s added something.  She watched as Charlotte padded across the sand and put her toes dubiously in the water.  “It’s warm!” she said.</p><p>“Are you going to just stand there?”</p><p>“No!  Particularly as you are still staring.”  She waded forward, gingerly, then carefully ducked into the water and began to swim, carefully.</p><p>“Where did you learn to swim?” Charlotte asked, as Ginny circled around her.  </p><p>“Um… At school.  We had a lake there.”  That was safe enough, wasn’t it?</p><p>“A lake!  Is this a private school?”</p><p>“Er, yes.”</p><p>“Are you rich?”</p><p>“No!  Definitely not!  Did… did you learn to swim at school?”</p><p>“No, at our local pool.”</p><p>“Like this one?”</p><p>“No!  A square one, heated, with disinfectant.  A proper pool!” </p><p>They were face to face now, treading water.</p><p>“So this party,” Charlotte prompted.  “Are you coming?”</p><p>“I can’t,” said Ginny.  “I don’t have any clothes.”</p><p>Charlotte’s eyes widened.  “None <em>at all</em>?”</p><p>“We do wear clothes,” said Ginny.  “I just don’t have much here.”  She swam closer, and put her hands on Charlotte’s sides.  The girl didn’t object.</p><p>“No dress?”</p><p>“No…”  She reached forward to kiss Charlotte’s mouth, and Charlotte let her, for a second.  Then she pulled her head back.  “I have one I can lend you,” she said.  “I think.  I have to go now.  Shall I meet you at your house?  It’s up that lane, yes?  The roof I can see?”</p><p>“Yes,” Ginny sighed.  “OK.”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Charlotte appeared at the house that evening, she stayed outside, nervously.  Ginny had been waiting in the kitchen, dressed in still-sandy underwear and the dressing gown, hugely impatient now to be away from her prison, and went outside to meet her.</p><p>“Here’s the dress,” Charlotte said, passing over the bag she was holding. </p><p>Striving for normality, Ginny asked: “Are you wearing that?” She nodded at the short dress Charlotte was wearing.  “It’s very nice.”</p><p>The dress was dark grey and very subdued, but probably suited Charlotte’s watcher persona.  “Thank you,” said Charlotte.  “Do you like that one?”</p><p>It was a short armless dress in a shiny blue fabric.  “Can I…?” Ginny asked.</p><p>“Of course…”</p><p>Ginny slipped back into the house, flung her dressing gown onto a chair, and pulled the blue dress over her head, with some difficulty.  Charlotte and she were of similar height, but not the same shape.  What would have hung loosely on Charlotte’s body was tight on Ginny’s chunkier frame.  But it fitted, near enough.  She went back outside to where Charlotte was waiting.  “What do you think?” she asked.</p><p>Charlotte nodded.  “It is close enough,” she said, frowning at Ginny’s bare feet.  “You have no shoes?” Ginny shook her head.  “I didn’t bring any for you,” Charlotte apologised. </p><p>“It doesn’t matter…” said Ginny.</p><p>“It’s not far,” decided Charlotte.</p><p>Their walk along the road from the house was silent.  What Charlotte was thinking she couldn’t tell, but Ginny’s own thoughts swirled from what was happening to Draco, and Lavender’s intentions, to what a wild party would be like, to whether Charlotte would let her get nearer. </p><p>Eventually she could hear something – music, distant and thudding - which grew louder.  At last they turned into an open yard, with a huge barn on one side, and smaller buildings around the square.  No house that Ginny could see.  Charlotte headed for the barn, and the noise.  There were huge doors on both this and the far side of the barn, dividing it effectively into two, with cavernous darkness on either side.  A couple were kissing, next to the far doors, but, as Ginny’s eyes accommodated, she could see dozens of figures – talking, drinking, dancing – on her right, and Charlotte led her in that direction. </p><p>The music helped, Ginny decided.  She could feel it through her, and it spoke to her, calmed her, soothed her. </p><p>A huge trestle table along one wall served as a bar, and Charlotte helped herself to a small bottle, unscrewed the top, drank, and then gestured to Ginny to help herself.  Ginny copied Charlotte, and discovered the drink inside was overly sweet and alcoholic.  At least holding it gave her something to do. </p><p>There must have been about thirty people in the room, and the noise of music and raised voices was deafening.  Despite the strangeness, Ginny felt better now, stimulated by the crowd of people.  “So are we going to dance?” she shouted in Charlotte’s ear, but the latter gave an expressionless shrug and walked out towards the daylight, but then into the other half of the barn, and Ginny followed her. </p><p>This area was just a storeroom, she realised, with dividing walls built of huge stacked beams, and a central corridor.  Charlotte wandered along the corridor, gazing into the various doorways without stopping.  Ginny trailed after her, and discovered that courting couples were using some of the rooms – she got an angry glare from one girl, over the shoulder of the large young man embracing her.  Charlotte finally stopped next to a crude ladder rising to a higher level, and was staring through another smaller doorway beneath it.  When Ginny joined her, Charlotte shushed her, even though she hadn’t said anything, and when Ginny peered around the door she discovered that Charlotte had struck gold: A girl was leaning over a bench, her skirt rucked up to show her naked bottom, while a boy stood behind her, his hips moving urgently.  They didn’t notice the audience behind them, and Charlotte seemed in no hurry to leave, but Ginny turned away hastily, trying to keep her eyes away from the doorways, and walked quickly back to the other half of the barn. </p><p>Her drink was already empty, so she got another bottle – just as sweet and dizzying as the last one – and then tried to join in the dancing.  Dancing on her own, to music she didn’t know, wasn’t much of an occupation, but it beat Charlotte’s disturbing alternative, or thinking about Draco and Lavender.  She observed the others as she did so.  There was a group of girls, dancing energetically, but they didn’t notice her, and several couples, one of them an ugly girl with short dyed white hair and bright red lips, dancing showily with another girl.  The men were young, fit and often large, but they weren’t dancing.  Some were dark-skinned, there was a redhead, but paler than Ginny, several were good-looking, mostly with broad shoulders and muscle.  What sort of a game was rugby, anyway?</p><p>She spotted food laid out on another even longer trestle table, opposite the bar, and decided to help herself, as others were doing.  The food wasn’t particularly varied – bread, cheese, cold meat - but there was plenty of it, and she sampled endlessly, and maybe it would fix both hungers.  No-one showed any interest in talking to her, but they all seemed to know each other, yelling joking remarks at each other, exchanging hugs, throwing insults.  Still, this was better than perving with Charlotte at the other end of the barn.</p><p>There was some horseplay between some of the men – trying to wrestle each other over - while the girls treated this as entirely normal, simply moving out of the way when necessary as they gossiped.  Then one of the men seized another by the ears, and dragged him to the end of the barn, both of them roaring, parting the crowd, and shoved him to the ground, to huge mirth.  Through gaps in the crowd Ginny could see the victim grabbing the legs of his attacker and pulling him over.  When they regained their feet, they both seemed to be wet, but it wasn’t water.  When she pushed her way through the audience, she could see a bright blue circle on the floor, with a low edge, a man’s height across, full of liquid.  Only it wasn’t really liquid, because it didn’t splash as the two men wrestled.  One was trying to pull off his opponent’s head, as far as she could tell, while the other squirmed and punched him until he let go, to cheers and hilarity.  Then they discarded their shirts – great muscles underneath, she decided – and wrestled with each other once more.  The non-liquid made their skins glisten – and slippery, she realised.  And they were trying to remove each other’s trousers. </p><p>There was a huge feeling of urgency in Ginny now.</p><p>The fight grew ever more intense and hilarious, while the crowd cheered and chanted.  Finally there was a cheer when one of them managed to pull the trousers off the other, and stand and wave them.  Then he helped his opponent to his feet, and the pair of them staggered out of the circle, and over to the drinks table. </p><p>Ginny’s sense of urgency was crystallising into hunger again now, and her eyes fastened on their gleaming skin, the muscles beneath, their broad shoulders…  They were all so good-looking, weren’t they?  Men and girls alike…</p><p>Already there were two more men ripping off their shirts and stepping into the pool, with loud laughing challenges.  They lobbed handfuls of the stuff at each other, and then they were wrestling, too.  Ginny found it hard to tear her eyes away from the gleaming wrestling bodies.  The dancing had stopped, and most of the crowd was gathered around the fighters, cheering, their arms jostling hers.</p><p>There were several tousled and shiny-skinned men in shorts when a girl – tall and blonde – stepped into the circle, dragged her dress over her head and shouted a challenge to the girls in the room, to whoops and screams from the rest.  The girl was wearing bra and panties, and Ginny wondered how this was going to play.  A dark-haired girl, nearly as tall as the blonde, stepped forward, and there was a cheer as she pulled her dress over her head and leapt on the other girl.  The two wrestled as aggressively as the men, until the blonde girl managed to pin the dark-haired girl to the ground – and then dragged her bra from her.  She stood and held the garment in the air to cheers, while the victim got good-naturedly to her feet and reeled out of the pool, turning back at the last second to pluck her bra from the victor.  She didn’t seem to mind her breasts being on show.  Another girl stepped forward, challengingly, to further whoops.  This was the white-haired girl, and although she was considerably shorter than her opponent, she played dirty.  The blonde was soon vanquished, her ample breasts exposed, and the white-haired girl was calling for more contenders.  There was a string of volunteers – because the white-haired girl was popular, or because she was not? – but each was beaten, their bras waved above them, and they retreated breathlessly from the field.  Some of them didn’t bother to dress, and she saw them being hugged by the men, their naked skin gleaming in the lights, and Ginny felt even hungrier.</p><p>The white-haired girl was still calling for competitors, but interest seemed to be waning now – the remaining girls laughingly drew back as hands tried to drag them – and Ginny found herself stepping forwards.  She got a small cheer, and then another as she pulled her dress off and threw it onto the pile of dresses.  The white-haired girl wasn’t much taller than her, and even without a wand Ginny decided her chances were good.  She stepped into the circle, finding the non-liquid to be jelly-like, and she almost slipped as she brought her other foot over the edge.  Perhaps this wouldn’t be as easy as she’d thought…</p><p>She launched herself at the other girl anyway, and her shoulder smacked satisfyingly into the other’s midriff, and the girl went flying.  The whoops and cheers were music to Ginny’s ears.  But she was soon in trouble.  The jelly was incredibly slippery, and it was hard to get a foothold, and almost impossible to grapple with her opponent, who was covered in the stuff.  And it was hard to see when the jelly got in her eyes. </p><p>The white-haired girl seemed to be made of steel, and soon pinioned Ginny to the ground, so that Ginny quickly became equally covered in the slippery jelly, including in her mouth.  It tasted strange but not unpleasant.  Ginny tried to jab her elbow into her opponent, but she had little purchase as she slithered around the pool, and then to her horror she felt her bra starting to slide from her.  She struggled wildly, but then the weight came off her back, and the annoying white-haired girl was standing above her, waving her latest trophy, while Ginny staggered and slithered to her feet and stepped over the edge of the pool. </p><p>The first person she saw was Charlotte, staring at her round-eyed.  She didn’t want to have to speak to her, not now, so instead she turned around, reached up and snatched her bra from the victor and put it back on.  She and it were covered in jelly, and it was hard to get the hooks to catch.  But when she’d done so, she still needed to avoid Charlotte’s devouring eyes.  As the white-haired girl was still calling for another competitor, Ginny defied protocol by stepping back into the pool, to more cheers.</p><p>The white-haired girl didn’t object, and actually grinned, but then the grin turned piratical and she was stepping forward to resume the fight.  The cheers were louder now.  Ginny felt energised, and was starting to understand how the game was played, and she continued to dodge until she managed to cannon her opponent over.  Then she leapt, and she was heaving at the other girl’s brassiere, dragging the fighting fingers away from it, finally undoing it and wrenching it free.  Then she could stand, her muscles aching, and wave it, to lessened cheers, but she didn’t care, and her opponent had to climb tiredly out of the circle, one arm up in acknowledgement.</p><p>No-one else stepped forward, to Ginny’s mixed relief, but her blood was up.  “We haven’t finished,” she shouted in the direction of the white-haired girl, who turned to look at her in puzzlement as another girl hugged her, lasciviously. “Best of three,” Ginny called.   The white-haired girl grinned, tiredly, accepted her bra from Ginny and donned it once more.  There were cheers as she stepped forward, back into the circle…</p><p>The third bout was challenging.  Her opponent had learned how to block her dodges, and it became a muscle-tearing struggle, while the jelly got into Ginny’s hair, her eyes, her nose, but she refused to surrender, and once more she was dragging the girl’s bra from her, standing, tiredly, her arms heavy, waving her prize, and the cheers were real this time.</p><p>She was about to follow her opponent out of the circle when another competitor stepped forwards – only this one was male.  Tall and muscled, with wonderful near-black skin.  To further cheers, he removed his trousers – his shirt was already gone, and the highlights on his skin were mesmerising – and stepped into the circle.</p><p>“No!” Ginny called.  “No chance!  Fight your own size!” she said to him, stepping back, playfully. </p><p>But he ignored this, and dropped to his knees.  “Like this?” he asked.</p><p>“Where’s your bra?” she called out, to general amusement, but while they were still laughing, she dived on him, hitting him in the midriff with her shoulder, then wrapping her arms around his waist.  He barely moved, and she was sliding down him, but then she was trying to get her tired arms up once more, so they could grab the edge of his shorts.  Surely this would be easy…</p><p>His huge hands were under her arms, heaving her upwards, and then he was spinning her around, breaking her grip.  Before she could squirm back, his hands were on her breasts, and he was dragging her bra over her head by main force.  It tangled in her hair as she struggled with all her might, but then he was waving it in the air, accepting the cheers and boos.  She took advantage of his distraction to play her own rules.  She twisted around and launched another attack on his shorts, gaining a roar of appreciation from the crowd.  He tossed her bra out of the pool and twisted round to grab her.  In a few short seconds he managed to pin both of her wrists in one of his huge hands, and was then dragging her arms above her head.  While she struggled and squawked, his other hand came down to her waist.  “No!” she shrieked in realisation, and tried to twist around again to break his grip, kicking at him, but then her feet went from under her and she was slithering against him, sliding down to the floor. </p><p>He was much too strong, and to her horror she could feel her briefs sliding down her legs.  She squawked once more, managed at last to free one hand, and was trying to lash out at him, but he dragged the briefs off her legs by main force.  Then he was separating her hands, one wrist in each of his hands, and pulling them apart, so she couldn’t hit him, couldn’t cover herself, and her face was hot with embarrassment and exertion.  But then hands were reaching out to her, dragging her out of the pool, and people were hugging her, laughing in her ear.  And her victor was kissing her neck, to her surprise, and then his dark arms were around her, lifting her into the air, and outside.</p><p>  </p><p>She remembered discovering afterwards that only red wine could cut the taste and texture of the jelly in her mouth, and she was drinking thirstily.  And noticing another boy’s eyes on her, looking at her in wonder.  He was tall, thin, curly-haired and good-looking, so she went over to the pile of clothes, found her briefs and dragged them on.  Not bothering about her brassiere, she marched over to the boy, seized his hand, held it high, and dragged him into the pool…</p><p>Now she was on the hay-covered floor, in one of the storerooms, with the handsome boy.  Even catching sight of Charlotte’s intent expression in the doorway, and the other eyes as well, couldn’t disturb her fierce enjoyment.</p><p>Afterwards she could remember arguing with Charlotte, resisting having Charlotte’s dress pulled over her head, the few people left searching for her underwear, while she told them loudly, in English and French, that it didn’t matter, she didn’t need any, she’d be back.</p><p>Walking endlessly, along a dark, empty lane, with Charlotte.  “I’d better see you home,” Charlotte saying, nervously.</p><p>The moon in the sky, the light cold on her skin.</p><p>Charlotte still talking.  “I don’t know how you did that.” Ginny didn’t have a reply.</p><p>“I think a lot of people were quite shocked.”  Charlotte’s words were like a chiming bell, too close, too loud, making her whole head ring.</p><p>She was back at the house, to her surprise.  Charlotte was pushing her upstairs, into the bathroom, and was turning on the taps for the huge bath.  Climbing in – too cold – washing, hurriedly. Charlotte’s hands in her hair, soaping it interminably while Ginny shivered.  Climbing out.  A blanket being used to dry her, prickling her.  Taking Charlotte’s hand and leading her to a bedroom, dropping onto the bed, and falling asleep almost immediately.</p><p> </p><p>She awoke suddenly, as a shadow moved in front of the sun pouring through the window.  There was a shriek, and the figure that had been cuddled up to her was moving rapidly away.  Charlotte, looking horrified, was pushing herself up the bed, dragging the sheet to cover her nakedness, leaving Ginny exposed.  They squinted up uncertainly at the silhouette.</p><p>“Hello, stranger,” said the stranger.  She was speaking English, even more mystifyingly, but with a French accent, and was carrying a robe.</p><p>“Hello,” said Ginny, cautiously.</p><p>The girl squinted at her in disbelief.  “You really have no idea who I am,” she said.</p><p>“No…”</p><p>“Gabrielle?” prompted the girl.  “Your sister-in-law? Fleur’s <em>little sister</em>?”</p><p>“Oh!” Ginny managed.  “Oh, yes!  Hi!  How are you?”  She smiled, but it probably closer resembled the cringe she was feeling.  “I didn’t expect to see you here…”</p><p>Now she looked, she could see some resemblance to the precocious Gabrielle from Fleur’s wedding, but the years had changed Gabrielle beyond recognition.  Now she was a self-assured near-adult, elegant, well-dressed.</p><p>“I’m fine, thank you,” said Gabrielle.  “So…  This is… the werewolf?”  </p><p>“What?  No!  No, this is Charlotte… She’s not…  She… lives around here,” she said, lamely.  “We were at a party together…” she stammered, her face hotter than the sun.</p><p>“So,” said Gabrielle.  “It is true what they say.  Some time you must tell me more, but now I am here to collect you, so perhaps you can put on this robe, and come with me?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Wandmaker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Their destination was strange:  They seemed to be in an endless manicured garden, dotted with tall deciduous trees.  They were standing in front of a tiny house, barely bigger than a garden shed, but it had window boxes, shutters and a chimney.  In the distance Ginny could see other buildings, scattered amongst the trees, that seemed no bigger.</p>
<p>“What is this place?” asked Ginny, in puzzlement.</p>
<p>“This is Paris,” said Gabrielle. </p>
<p>“Is all Paris like this?” asked Ginny, looking around in amazement.</p>
<p>“Not at all,” said Gabrielle.  “This is our own part.  The magic part.”  She walked up to the door and opened it for her.  The house was magically bigger on the inside:  A large open space, with doors leading off, and a full-length window looking out over the garden.  The sofas were multicoloured and looked comfortable.  The futuristic kitchen area was intriguing to Ginny’s eyes. </p>
<p>“This is for the three of you,” said Gabrielle.  “But the others are not here right now.”</p>
<p>“Your English is very good,” Ginny said, trying to build some bridges.  And in truth Gabrielle’s accent was a lot better than her sister’s, even after Fleur’s two years in England and an English husband. </p>
<p>“I have a good ear,” said Gabrielle.  She was still looking at Ginny in a measuring way.  “Have you heard me sing?  I think not.”</p>
<p>“No, I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>There were paintings on the walls.  One was entirely static – a study of fruit and vegetables, with a dead game bird draped across them.  Another was entitled “STUDY”, in French, and showed a young girl – six or seven years old, Ginny guessed – sitting at a school desk, head down, intent on her quill as she wrote, surrounded by items of study: scrolls, a globe, some rock samples, a line drawing.  Was this some kind of hint?  Was she going to be back at school?  She still had no clue what to expect…</p>
<p>“So,” said Gabrielle.  “You are free today, except that you must choose a wand.  Tomorrow, Apolline will be here at eight in the morning.  It is important you are ready by then.  There is lots to do.”  She passed a small leather purse to Ginny, and went to the window.  “That building,” she said, pointing, “The red one, that is where you can eat if you don’t wish to cook.  Behind it are the shops, if you wish to make your own food.  The money should last you several days.”</p>
<p>“Where’s the wand place?” Ginny asked, abruptly.  She realised suddenly how desperate she was to have a wand in her fingers.</p>
<p>“It is close,” said Gabrielle.  “I will show you.”  She took Ginny’s arm and led her outside, and they were walking along a pretty, tree-lined street, with little houses along both sides.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you managed to find entertainment at our house,” said Gabrielle.</p>
<p>“Charlotte found me,” Ginny muttered.  <em>And</em> <em>I’m not going to talk about that</em>, she vowed, but Gabrielle didn’t pursue the subject.</p>
<p>“And I’m pleased the robe fits you,” Gabrielle said then.  “It is one of mine.”</p>
<p>“It’s great,” said Ginny, awkwardly.  “Thank you.”  Gabrielle was definitely a little taller than Ginny - although her figure was closer to Charlotte’s than hers.  <em>Maybe she’s too tall for it now</em>, Ginny thought in annoyance.</p>
<p>The building Gabrielle stopped outside was quite different.  It didn’t resemble a house at all, and was made up of endless panels at strange angles that gleamed in the sunlight.  The more Ginny stared at any part, the harder it was to tell whether any pair of walls were jutting out towards them or receding into the distance.  The wide transparent door that Gabrielle gestured her towards seemed to be the only truly vertical part of the building. </p>
<p>“Don’t forget,” said Gabrielle.  “Eight o’clock in the morning, at your house.”  She kissed Ginny briefly, twisted and disappeared.</p>
<p>Ginny had to push then pull at the door before it opened.  She found herself in a large chamber, with a strange multi-angled ceiling that concealed the extent of the room.  Scattered across the floor were strange box-like shapes, almost as tall as her and much wider, of gleaming white and glass, each displaying wands.  Some displays held several, but some only contained a single item, supported on nothing, as far as she could tell.</p>
<p>A slender figure was approaching her: A girl in her twenties, with thick, straight brown hair. </p>
<p>No workaday robes for this woman.  She was wearing what appeared to be an evening dress, short and silvery, as if she was encased in gleaming metal.  Despite all this she didn’t seem entirely confident.</p>
<p>“Yes?” she asked, her voice low and quiet.  She was strikingly good-looking, Ginny decided.  Ginny opened her mouth, but no words came out, so she tried again.  “I need a wand,” she stammered.</p>
<p>“Good,” said the girl.  “Do you have a particular design in mind?  Have you inspected our displays?”</p>
<p>“No…”  Ginny was full of impatience now, as well as hunger for a new wand.</p>
<p>The girl was walking across the room, beckoning to her.  “This is my favourite,” she said, gesturing to a single almost-black wand in its own case.  “The Carolingian.  Engraved ebony and Hippogriff feather.  A truly amazing wand…”</p>
<p>“How much is it?” Ginny asked nervously.</p>
<p>The girl turned towards her and shrugged, regretfully.  “If you ask the price,” she said, “Then perhaps we should look elsewhere.”  She was eyeing Ginny’s robe.  “How much can you spend?” enquired the girl.</p>
<p>“I… I don’t know,” admitted Ginny, her face hot once more.  “I was sent here…”</p>
<p>“Truly?  Who sent you?”</p>
<p>“Her name’s Apolline Delacour,” said Ginny, uncertainly.</p>
<p>The young woman looked equally puzzled.  “Oh!” she said.  “I don’t know who that is.  It is best if I fetch Beatrix.”</p>
<p>“I…” started Ginny, but the girl was already striding away from her.</p>
<p>It seemed she wouldn’t be getting a Carolingian.</p>
<p>The woman who clacked across the floor towards her, with the girl trailing behind, was nearly as attractive as the girl, but older - perhaps twice her age – with wonderful dark brown skin and stylish near-black hair.  She was immaculately dressed, and her high-heeled shoes appeared to be made of glass.  Ginny fancied she could hear the glass heels singing under the impact of her steps.</p>
<p>“Ah!  You seek a replacement, yes?” she said, smiling merrily.  “Who was it sent you?”</p>
<p>Ginny repeated Apolline’s name, and the woman’s expression changed, and she nodded. </p>
<p>“That is no problem,” she said.  “We are happy to oblige the Ministry.  I am Beatrix Holombec.  It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”  She took Ginny’s hand then didn’t let go.  “You must be feeling desolate without a wand!” she said, staring intently into her eyes.  Ginny cleared her throat.  “Such loss!  Although there are benefits, sometimes.  Occasionally it is good to return to the basis of life, do you agree?”  She seemed to wink at Ginny.</p>
<p>But Holombec’s attention was already elsewhere.  “I have a favour to ask, Undine,” she was saying to the girl.  “There is a new wand on my desk and I want your opinion on it!  Would you mind?”  The girl shrugged and turned away. </p>
<p>“So… Do you work with Apolline?” Beatrix asked. </p>
<p>“Er,” said Ginny.  “Not exactly.”</p>
<p>Beatrix nodded.  “Of course, you cannot talk about it!  Now, what is the composition of your wand?” asked Beatrix.  “The one that was stolen?”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t stolen,” began Ginny, but immediately decided not to pursue that avenue of conversation.  “It was holly and dragon heartstring.”</p>
<p>Madame Holombec froze and stared at Ginny in surprise.  “Well,” she said.  “Well…  Of course we will help you …”  But the look she was giving Ginny was a very strange one.  “Now, you will understand that we hold a huge range here, but it is not possible to include every taste.  This item will need to be ordered.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you make them?” asked Ginny in disappointment.  <em>How long will this take?</em> </p>
<p>“Of course,” said Beatrix.  “But we import many of our wands.  We reserve our efforts here for the unusual.  The newest concepts.  Decorated wands, things of that kind.”  But she was eyeing Ginny intently as she spoke, her eyes wandering up and down her figure.  Was something wrong with her robe? </p>
<p>“I have a suggestion,” said Madame Holombec.  “Return here tomorrow afternoon, as we are closing.  Then we can present you with your wand, and I will invite you to dine with us, to celebrate your new wand.  Is that acceptable to you?”</p>
<p>“Dine?” repeated Ginny, uncertainly.</p>
<p>“Certainly!” said Beatrix. “It would be a great pleasure for us.  My family would be delighted to make your acquaintance.”</p>
<p>“Really?” said Ginny weakly.</p>
<p>“Now!  I think we have all we need to help you.  So you have time to enjoy our fine city, and I will see you in the afternoon tomorrow.  Let us say seventeen hundred, or a few minutes before then.”</p>
<p>She reached out her hand and stroked Ginny’s face affectionately.  “Wear your best dress,” she said in an intimate, smiling tone.  “So you can impress my family.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Poltergeist</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Ginny returned to the little house, in hope now, she was disappointed to find it empty still.  She left the house again to cross to the red building, but there was no trace of Draco or Lavender there, nor in the shops next to them.  <em>Where are they?</em> she kept wondering.  She made herself eat, but she felt tired yet fretful, and even a long evening walk in the streets around the house didn’t calm her.  And she ached at the thought of a wand in her hand once more.  </p><p>She slept badly, her mind churning with images of Draco, and the Aurors, and Charlotte, and the party, and Lavender.  But she made sure she was awake early the following morning - and dressed - well before Apolline appeared, and had to wait impatiently and anxiously for her to arrive. </p><p>“We can breakfast when we get there,” said Apolline as soon as she appeared, seemingly in a hurry.  “Let us go.  Is your wand OK?”  She was already turning and stepping out into the fresh air.</p><p>“I haven’t got it yet,” called Ginny.  “I’m collecting it this evening.”</p><p>Apolline swung round in shock.  “This evening?” she demanded.  “Why?”</p><p>“They said they would have to order,” said Ginny, lamely.</p><p>Apolline looked annoyed.  “Those people,” she said angrily.  “They think we are of no account.  We do not have the time for this!  We do not need a decorated wand, or their other nonsense!”  She pointed a stern finger at Ginny.  “You will return there now, and demand a wand.  It is just a wand.  The magic is in the witch.  You have that phrase?”</p><p>“No…”  Had she ordered a fancy wand without realising it?</p><p>“Return there immediately, please,” said Apolline, in irritation.  “I will have to reschedule everything.  This is most annoying.  No more delays, please!  I will return here at midday, and you will have a wand!”</p><p>She spun into nothing, leaving Ginny embarrassed and angry.  She spun in her turn back to the wand shop.  It was still extremely difficult to Apparate without a wand, and needed several attempts.  <em>Not much longer</em>, she promised herself in annoyance as she twisted.  Her fingers tightened at the thought of owning a wand once more.</p><p>…Except that when she arrived, there <em>was</em> no wand shop.  In front of her was a blank piece of garden, a large area of grass with curved flowerbeds around it.  Had she come to the wrong place?</p><p>She had no way of contacting Apolline, she fretted.  If she waited until Apolline turned up, the Frenchwoman was going to have another tantrum if she still didn’t have a wand. <em>And I might just have a tantrum of my own, if I don’t get a wand soon.</em></p><p>She was still locked in a paralysis of frustrated indecision when something large and flat seemed to pivot out of the ground.  Suddenly there was a wall in front of her, five or more times her height, angled away from her.  As she watched, it appeared to unfold, so now there were two walls, and then these unfolded, in a way that hurt her eyes, to become a box.  One wall unfolded again to form a roof, and then the box continued to unfold, so that zig-zag walls appeared in all directions, forming the angled roof and ever-more-complex walls.  Finally the door appeared and seemed to jump towards her.  Unnervingly, the building didn’t look the same as yesterday.</p><p>She waited nervously for several seconds, in case the building hadn’t finished yet, but then stepped towards the door and pulled it open.  Inside, it seemed to be identical to yesterday.  She caught sight of the young girl - What was her name? – occupied amidst the displays.</p><p>“Yes?” asked the girl, looking up.  “Oh.  I am sorry, your wand has not yet arrived.”</p><p>“Apolline says just give me any wand,” Ginny managed.  “She says we… I… don’t need a fancy wand, just an ordinary one…”  She felt some disappointment - Even when something’s unexpected, having it taken away is a let down – but mostly she hungered to have a wand in her fingers once more.</p><p>The girl stared at her in amazement.  “Any wand?” she said.</p><p>“Yes,” echoed Ginny.  “Any wand.  Apolline insists.”  Her mouth was dry.  What would they give her?</p><p>“Well,” said the girl, dubiously.  “We have some availability in stock.  I will show you.”  She beckoned to Ginny and led her to a remote corner, where sat a large transparent chest, with dozens of wands inside.  The girl heaved the lid open.  “You can choose.” </p><p>Holding her breath, Ginny peered into the cabinet.  A dizzying display of wands, from old-fashioned and gnarled to planed and futuristic.  Was Apolline right?  Did the wand really not matter?  There was such tension in her now.  She saw a wand that reminded of her old one, and reached out a hand. </p><p>The girl immediately pulled her arm backwards.  “No!  You must not touch yet!” she said in shock.  “You must point to the one you like.  Don’t worry,” she added, confidingly.  “If the one you choose does not work for you, you can bring it back and choose another.  Although they are guaranteed, of course.  But you must bring the old wand.”</p><p>“Shouldn’t I try it here?” Ginny asked, in puzzlement.</p><p>“No!  It is not permitted.  You will need a box…”</p><p>The girl squatted briefly and pulled a wand box out of a drawer in the bottom of the chest.  She opened it, and held the box upside down over the wand Ginny had chosen, which leapt obligingly into the box.  Ginny jumped in surprise.  Carefully, the girl closed the box and handed it to Ginny, who took it gingerly.</p><p>“May you have many magical moments with your new companion,” said the girl, but it was obviously a rote remark.</p><p>“Thank you,” said Ginny, still unsure.  Carrying the box awkwardly, she walked back to the entrance.  The girl hurried to reach the door first, and opened it for her.  She smiled, prettily.  “Goodbye,” she said.</p><p> </p><p>Apparating was now wonderfully easy, even with the wand still in its box.  As soon as she was inside the house, Ginny opened the box, heart thudding, and reached her fingers towards the wand.  Her hand stopped, nervously, but she reminded herself of Apolline’s offhand words, and picked it up.</p><p>It sparked lengthily, and suddenly there was a breeze rushing around her, playing with her hair.  She turned, automatically.  Had she left the door open?  A window?  But all were closed.  She was surprised to see raindrops pouring down the window.  It was darker outside now, and as she watched, a flicker of light lit the heavy grey clouds.  Immediately a clap of thunder seemed to shake the house.  In the distance, though, she could see sunlight.  There must be a marvellous rainbow somewhere… </p><p>There was still an air current blowing around her face, and she could hear a creaking noise, and a crash.  Then footsteps, behind her…</p><p>“Hello?” she called.</p><p>She turned rapidly, and her heart lurched when she saw a small figure running across the room.  A small girl, with a rock in her hand, which she was hurling at the window.  The window starred and smashed, and the noise of the rain outside was suddenly louder.  The girl turned, triumphantly, an angry expression on her face, and she was wrenching open a kitchen cupboard.  With both hands she was dragging rows of bottles out of the cupboard, so they smashed to the floor.  She picked out another bottle and threw it across the room – Ginny ducked – where it smashed, painting red across the wall.</p><p>“Study, study, study!” screamed the girl.  “I’ll give you <em>study</em>!”  And with that clue, Ginny recognised the little figure – the girl from the painting.  What was she doing out of her frame?  She could see the picture from here, empty of its main subject now, daubs of paint everywhere, the desk on its side, while its truant occupant screamed her rage and threw anything she could get her hands on.</p><p>Ginny glanced nervously at the still-life, which was mercifully static… only it wasn’t.  As she watched, the fruit seemed to grow rapidly older.  A plum sagged in on itself, turned yellow, grew mould.  A sprig of grapes withered to nothing.  And the dead bird was moving.  She wanted to be sick when she realised the movement was maggots, heaving themselves above the feathers, scuttling over the bird and each other.  She was aware of a dreadful stench – rotting meat, decayed vegetables – clapped her free hand over her nose and staggered backwards, just as a food tin smashed into the painting, scattering maggots and rotten fruit.</p><p>Her new wand was still in her hand, but what could she do with it?</p><p>The young girl was kicking at the remainder of the glass in the window, which was turning white and starred, and fragments of glass were dropping to the floor.</p><p>Ginny couldn’t remember any spells…</p><p>The young vandal whirled around and scooped up a bottle that was rolling across the floor.  “<em>Stop</em>!” shouted Ginny, but the little figure ignored her, and the bottle was crashing through the remaining intact glass.  The breeze was a gale now, and Ginny could barely stand as it pummelled her. </p><p>Gathering her battered thoughts, she made herself let go of the wand, so it dropped to the floor with a bang and a flash of light.  Suddenly everything was still, the darkness and roaring downpour outside had gone, and the sun was blazing in through the smashed window.  All she could hear now was her own gasping breath.</p><p> </p><p>The entire room was a wreck.  The girl from the painting was still out of her frame, but frozen, and Ginny had to step nervously around her.  Attempts at clearing up by hand came to a messy halt when she cut her fingers on some broken glass, and she was dripping blood everywhere, and even when she’d staunched the flow she was restricted to cleaning paint and food off the walls one-handed.  There seemed to be no way of stopping the foul stench from the still-life painting so, firmly ignoring the heaving messages from her stomach, she opened the front door with her undamaged hand, dumped the painting outside and slammed the door.  There was nothing to be done about the smashed food bottles, so she had to leave them.  And she had no idea how to clean the carpets.</p><p>At this point Apolline arrived, and she looked astonished when she saw the still-wrecked room, and even more shocked when Ginny described how the wand had behaved.  To Ginny’s relief, Apolline flicked a spell at the frozen vandal, who immediately returned to her place in the painting, the desk upright once more, although the girl continued to glare balefully at them as she resumed her endless studying.  Then further wand flicks turned the carpet of smashed glass back into windowpanes and bottles, and dealt with the endless stains, and at last there was order.</p><p>They had been stepping gingerly around the new wand all this time, but Apolline used her own wand to flick the offending weapon back into its box.  There were burn marks on the rug where it had lain.  “Come with me!” she snapped at Ginny.</p><p>They returned to the wand shop, which was present this time, but the door was locked.  An angry Apolline began beating on the door with her fist, and shouting threats.  No-one appeared, but instead the door disappeared, suddenly, and the building began to fold up once more.  A huge folding wall barely missed Apolline as Ginny dragged her backwards.  The shop showed no further sign of aggression, and soon disappeared completely.</p><p>Apolline was still breathing fire.  “I know where she lives,” she said, angrily, and they were spinning once more. </p><p>They were standing in front of a substantial circular building surrounded by white pillars.  Apolline hammered on the door here too, but to Ginny’s relief the house didn’t fold up or try to attack them, and instead the door opened.  A young man – wonderful brown skin, handsome, well-muscled - stood at the door.</p><p>“Yes?” he asked, looking at them in puzzled enquiry.</p><p>“Where is she?” demanded Apolline. </p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“<em>Who</em>?  Madame Holombec, of course!”</p><p>The young man shrugged, turned and called, unleashing his amazing profile.  “Beatrix?” he called.  He really was extraordinarily beautiful, Ginny decided.  Great voice, too…</p><p>Ginny recognised the glassy clacking of heels before Madame Holombec appeared, looking puzzled.  She was wearing an entirely different dress now – something chic and white, with a belt low on her hips.  The young man shared Beatrix’s excellent cheekbones, Ginny saw. </p><p>“Is there a problem?” she asked.  Ginny was disappointed when the young man effaced himself and turned away.  She watched his back disappear into the house with a regret that surprised her.</p><p>“<em>Problem</em>?  Yes,” snapped Apolline.  “You have sold the Ministry a defective wand…”</p><p>“Defective?  No,” returned Beatrix abruptly.</p><p>“Storms, poltergeists, destruction!” Apolline said loudly.  “A normal wand, you are saying?”</p><p>“Poltergeists?” shot back Beatrix in disbelief.  “Not possible.  Which wand is this?”</p><p>Apolline stabbed an angry finger at Ginny.  “The one you have just sold to her!” she snapped.</p><p>Madame Holombec hadn’t noticed Ginny until then. “This…?  Her wand isn’t ready yet!”</p><p>“The Ministry does not have time for your <em>embellishments</em>,” said Apolline, wrathfully.  “We merely require a standard wand for our colleague…”</p><p>“Which I have ordered, and will be here this afternoon!” shot back Beatrix.  “What is this nonsense?”</p><p>Ginny tried to intervene, earnestly wishing she didn’t have to.  “I went back to your shop,” she said.  “And told your saleswoman that I needed a wand now, because Madame Delacour demanded it.”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?  And Undine <em>gave</em> you one?”</p><p>“Yes…”</p><p>“Idiots!” shouted Beatrix.  “I am surrounded by <em>idiots</em>!”  She rounded on Apolline.  “And you are the biggest!”</p><p>“You will not speak to me like that!” snarled Apolline, reminding Ginny of Mrs Weasley.  “All we require is a standard wand!”</p><p>Beatrix, to her credit, stepped back, literally and figuratively.  She screwed her eyes shut, held her hands up, snapped her mouth shut, and seemed to count.</p><p>“Wait,” she said eventually.  “Wait.  Undine has obviously not understood something important here, and it seems you are also ignorant of it.  That is a surprise, but…  Has this girl of yours described to you the construction of her wand?”</p><p>Apolline stared at Beatrix, and then glared at Ginny.  “No,” she said.</p><p>“Holly!” said Beatrix.  “Dragon heartstring!” </p><p>“And…?” asked Apolline in mystification.</p><p>Beatrix looked at Apolline and shrugged, theatrically.  “Holly?” she asked rhetorically, as if this was obvious.  “The least responsive wood, no?”</p><p>“Is it?” asked Apolline, in surprise.  “I know it is rarely used here…”</p><p>“Rare,” nodded Beatrix.  “Yes.  And dragon heartstring?  Oh, yes!  <em>Also</em> rare…”</p><p>Apolline didn’t appreciate her sarcastic tone.  “And?” she asked, in irritation.</p><p>Beatrix sighed, theatrically.  “Dragon heartstring is the least intuitive wand core material,” she said.  “And, because of that, rarely used.”  She dropped her voice.  “In fact <em>only</em> used to deaden, to cancel, to minimise the magic spells of its owner.  A very useful material, when it is suspected that the new owner of a wand will put it to dark use.  Risky, if the wand user ever realises, but wand making is all about risk!”</p><p>Ginny felt distinctively nervous now.  What had she done, in the past?</p><p>“But there <em>is</em> another use,” said Beatrix, with relish.  “An important one.  When a young witch or wizard has such power that to give them a normal wand would have disastrous consequences!”</p><p>“Power…?” said Ginny weakly.</p><p>“Yet I have never before heard of a wand that is both dragon heartstring <em>and</em> holly!  Even the incredible <em>Harry Potter’s</em> wand combined holly with Phoenix feather!  Another intriguing pairing, let me say!  But dragon heartstring <em>and</em> holly?  A wand surely designed to have almost no effect at all!”  Beatrix turned to Ginny.  “This old wand of yours:  Did it ever function?  Were you able to perform <em>any </em>magic with it?”</p><p>“Well… yes,” said Ginny. </p><p>“But poorly?”</p><p>“I don’t think so…”</p><p>Beatrix stared at her in baffled disbelief for several seconds.  “I find this interesting,” she said eventually.  She turned to Apolline.  “And she is working with your department?  Well, at least she is on the right side, I suppose.  And you are sure there is no doubt over her…”  She paused, tactfully.</p><p>“Morals?” suggested Apolline, still annoyed. </p><p>“Allegiance!” shot back Beatrix.</p><p>“None.”</p><p>A weight began to fall from Ginny.  “Are you sure?” she asked Apolline, anyway.  “I…”</p><p>Apolline put her hand up.  “I’m quite sure.  Whether you are always <em>wise</em> remains to be seen.”</p><p>“A dangerous pet,” said Beatrix, dryly.</p><p>“Perhaps,” said Apolline, equally deadpan.  Ginny looked at both of them, speechless.</p><p>“So,” said Beatrix, reaching out her hand towards Apolline.  “Let me relieve you of this <em>danger</em>…”  She took the wand box.  “The correct wand will be here this evening.  And I look forward with interest to meeting this little <em>salamander</em> for dinner.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Dress</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Ginny nervously mentioned to Apolline what Madame Holombec had said about her best dress, Apolline breathed heavily through her nose, and Ginny expected fire to emerge.  But instead Apolline Apparated her immediately to another shop – a dress shop - and demanded to see the manager. </p><p>“A dress for this girl, please,” she said when the manager appeared.  “The bill to my office, please.”  She handed over a small something – it was black, and oval - snarled something under her breath, and left.  When Ginny processed Apolline’s words afterwards, they sounded like “<em>Best dress?</em>  I’ll give her <em>best dress</em>…”</p><p>The manager looked at Ginny in surprise.  “What sort of… dress?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” said Ginny.  “I’m invited for dinner,” she added.  The fidgety feeling was back, and she was impatient to grab any dress and leave.</p><p>The woman nodded.  “So…  Please remove your robe.”  A measuring tape appeared of its own accord from her pocket, and as soon as Ginny had dragged off her robe – the shop was mercifully empty – it applied itself to her repeatedly.  “Well,” said the manager, examining her, “You will need new underwear, of course…”  Ginny looked down with annoyance.  What was wrong with her underwear?  It had been a great relief yesterday morning to discover that Charlotte must have rinsed the jelly out of them and put them out to dry.  “And shoes,” proclaimed the woman.</p><p>“Can I get shoes here?” Ginny asked worriedly, through the busily-weaving tape.</p><p>“Certainly!”</p><p>
  <em>Is Apolline going to be OK with all this?</em>
</p><p>“So,” said the manager when the tape has finished.  “We have only a few pieces that are suitable.  But I am sure we will find the perfect dress for you.” </p><p>“I’m sure…”</p><p>The woman flicked her wand.  “Florence will help you now.”  She turned her back on Ginny and stalked away.</p><p>Florence, when she appeared, was not as Ginny expected:  She was an elderly, rounded, bent lady, shorter than Ginny.  With a froglike smile she beckoned to Ginny and led her to another large room, lined with dresses. </p><p>“These are all we have for you,” croaked Florence.  Her accent was strange and hard to understand.  “So, you are looking to impress your young man,” she beamed up at her.</p><p>“No…  I’m invited out for dinner.”</p><p>“Young men like to see lots of leg,” the old woman said.  “So, we can throw out all these,” she said waving her wand at one wall of dresses.  The dresses stiffened in apparent annoyance and swept out of the room.  She turned to Ginny.  “Now, where is your navel…?”  She stopped in surprise.  “Why are you wearing your robe?” </p><p>Embarrassed, Ginny pulled her robe off once more and dropped it on the floor.  It, too, whisked out of the door.  <em>Will I see it again?</em></p><p>“So… for your young man, your hair down, not up.  It is a good colour.  Yes, he will like that.  But everyone should be able to enjoy it.  I suggest…”  She flicked her wand, and Ginny felt a breeze running through her hair.  There was a wide mirror on one wall, and she turned to examine her appearance.  Her hair seemed to have gained body, and shape, bringing emphasis to her eyes, her cheekbones, her mouth.</p><p>“Good!  Now,” said Florence.  “Your navel…”</p><p>“My… navel?”</p><p>Florence clicked her tongue impatiently.  “Navels are <em>everything</em> this year!” she pronounced.  She placed her hand against Ginny’s stomach, above her navel, then felt for her ribs.  “Hmm,” she judged.</p><p>“Oh,” said Ginny, weakly.</p><p>“There!” said Florence.  “Not these ones!”  Another wand flick, and half the dresses abruptly left the room.  Now there were only a handful of dresses left – Ginny counted five.  Florence flicked a wrinkled hand at Ginny’s chest – Ginny could see it shake slightly.  “Now, take this off.  I never want to see it again!”</p><p>She meant her bra, Ginny realised, and with trepidation removed it.  Nervously, she tucked it in the waistband of her briefs, but, as soon as she let go, her brassiere whisked itself free and disappeared out of the door.  <em>I hope I’m going to find a dress that’s my size</em>, thought Ginny, wrapping her arms awkwardly around her chest.  <em>Or I’m going to have a chilly walk home.</em></p><p>“So!” said Florence yet again.  “This is what everyone is wearing this year,” she said with a wand flick. A dress flew off the wall and hovered above Ginny.  “Your arms…” she said, irritably. </p><p>Ginny lifted her arms obediently and the dress slid over her head, and down her.  It was a glittering champagne material, and as Florence had promised – and Ginny dreaded – it was slit almost to her waist, revealing the sides of her breasts.  It was also very short, barely covering her bottom.  <em>Not this one,</em> Ginny decided.  A mirror peeled itself away from one wall and positioned itself in front of her, and then a second mirror stationed itself over her shoulder.  Ginny gaped at herself in the mirrors, front and back, barely able to recognise herself.</p><p>“Pah,” said Florence.  “They are fools.  Everyone this year is a fool!  <em>This</em> is not the dress to attract your young man.”</p><p>“I don’t…”</p><p>“Arms up!  Up!”</p><p>Ginny lifted her arms, and the dress slid up her, and, to her regret, whisked through the door.   She decided she’d rather liked it.</p><p>Another dress was poised above her head, and was sliding over her.  It was leaf green, the skirt no longer than the last, but the top half was… a single narrow strip of material, rising from the centre of the skirt, looping over her left breast, around her neck and ending at her right breast, exposing both sides of both, and the underside of her right.  A question mark.</p><p>“Er…” she began. </p><p>Florence gave her a wrinkled leer.  “The old-fashioned boys like this one, huh?  It says, innocent girl they can take advantage of, no?  And the question is a <em>fake</em>!  If you ask <em>this</em> question, we already know the answer!”</p><p>Ginny could only nod, uncertainly.</p><p>“But the man who admires you is modern,” declared Florence.  “Sophisticated!  Arms up!”</p><p>The green dress disappeared, another appeared.  This one was made entirely of small flowers – white with suggestions of pink, tightly petalled – although it was equally short, with a jagged dress hem that seemed to reveal everything beneath, but the top half was a single, diagonal strap.  Ginny looked nervously in the mirror at her exposed left breast.</p><p>“Ah!  This is wrong!  White!  This dress is <em>virginal</em>!  Totally wrong!  Your arms!”</p><p>Ginny tried to catch sight of the remaining dresses, praying they weren’t as small as the ones that had just left.</p><p>“Don’t I get to choose?” she asked plaintively.</p><p>“<em>Choose</em>?” echoed Florence in amazement.  “Your dress is a weapon of <em>war</em>!  The correct dress will bring you <em>victory!  </em>Any other <em>risks defeat</em>!  Your arms!”</p><p>Ginny raised her arms quickly.  She wasn’t sure what kind of victory or defeat Florence was talking about.  Another dress dropped over her head.</p><p>She took in a breath in shock.</p><p>The new dress was at first sight red, but held every colour she could imagine.  It was made entirely of feathers.  Long ones hung down from her waist, fanning out, like a bird’s tail, with her briefs visible on both sides.  Above, the feathers narrowed, then widened again to form wings spreading inches from her shoulders.  At the top of the dress, the bird’s head reached upwards, jaws agape, to frame her neck, an eye visible on one side.  The flanks of the bird skimmed the sides of her breasts, and when she turned sideways there appeared to be nothing to conceal them.  The back of the dress was feathers, but merely a strip of them, narrowing at her waist, widening onto her shoulder blades.</p><p><em>At least my navel’s covered</em>, she told herself nervously.</p><p>“Breathe!” croaked Florence.  “Breathe!  Deeper!”</p><p>Ginny did so, and the wings on her shoulders flapped, sensuously.  Stunned, she took several deep breaths, and it was as if the bird was flying. </p><p>“It’s a phoenix!” she whispered in amazement.</p><p>“Of course!” said Florence, dismissively.  “Were you expecting a <em>sparrow</em>?  But old-fashioned!  Who wears this, in this day?”</p><p>“I think it’s… amazing,” said Ginny. </p><p>Her underpants were distinctly visible on either side.  “What do I wear… under it?” she asked timidly. </p><p>“Nothing, of course!” said Florence.  “The dress does not need it.  And everybody has a bottom.  Come, I show you…”  She swished her wand and Ginny’s briefs whisked downwards.  Ginny stepped out of them, awkwardly.  To her relief, the briefs remained on the floor.  But her bottom was largely naked.</p><p>“See?  See?” crowed Florence.  “Old fashioned!  Maybe a beauty spot, <em>here</em>,” she pronounced, prodding low on one of Ginny’s buttocks, making her jump.</p><p>“Could I… see that?” Ginny asked uncertainly. </p><p>Florence frowned.  “You have not yet seen the final dress!” she said, emphatically.</p><p>“Yes, but…”</p><p>Florence shrugged mightily.  Another flick of her wand, and Ginny felt a touch on one buttock.  Peeking in the mirror, she saw the beauty spot was not what she’d expected:  Instead of black, it was a gleaming, fiery red disc, a quarter of an inch across, like an angry sun, capturing her eye…</p><p>“The final dress?” barked Florence.</p><p>“Yes!  Yes, of course!” Ginny said hastily.  “But can we… Can we keep this one?  Not throw it away?”</p><p>“If you are certain…”  Florence flicked her wand.</p><p>The dress whisked away from her, leaving her naked, she was slow to realise, apart from the glowing beauty spot on her bum. </p><p>“Arms!” cried Florence.  Ginny quickly raised her arms, and the final dress dropped into place.</p><p>If it <em>was</em> a dress.  She seemed to be wearing nothing but a crescent moon.  Her right breast was almost covered by the upper limb – although both its upper and lower curves were distinctly visible - but the tip of the limb barely reached her left nipple.  The lower limb of the moon - pale cream and grey – only just covered her pubes. She caught sight of her rear view and that was also a shock:  The back of the dress showed a crescent moon too, but the entire disk was dimly visible, with craters and seas.  The sides wrapped around her torso, one side barely touching the crescent on her front.  Around the disk, on her shoulder blades and buttocks, were sparkling stars in strange constellations.  Somehow her back view looked even more naked than in the last dress.  The beauty spot, resplendent and eye-catching, nestled among the other stars on her bottom. </p><p>But the front was barely there at all.  Where the lower limb of the crescent ended, Ginny was convinced something must be showing.</p><p>“I don’t…” she started, but Florence talked blithely across her.</p><p>“No, this is right.  I am sure of it.  Your man will not resist <em>this</em> dress!   You will conquer!  You will sweep victory before you!  I will wrap it immediately.”  She turned away.</p><p>“I’m not sure…” began Ginny.</p><p>Florence froze and looked over her shoulder in amazement.</p><p>“It’s amazing,” Ginny said, miserably, “But I love the last dress too.  The phoenix one.”</p><p>“You cannot decide?” demanded Florence.</p><p>“No… Not yet.  I…”</p><p>Florence frowned.  “You have paid for one dress, so you should take one dress.”  Her expression changed, to a conspiratorial smile.  “But perhaps my aged mind will wander, my hand will slip, and Ah! you will find both dresses going home with you.”  She held up an admonishing finger.  “But!  Tomorrow morning the second dress, the second choice must come back here!”</p><p>“Oh, thank you!” burst out Ginny.  “I’ll take very good care of it!  Of both of them!”</p><p>Florence gestured dismissively.  “You will not damage these dresses,” she said.  “It is not possible, without intent.  And I can tell you have an artist’s eye, an artist’s heart.  You would not damage another artist’s child.”</p><p>“No,” said Ginny, humbly.  “Thank you so much…”</p><p>Another wave.  “It is nothing,” Florence said.  “Nothing!  I would stay here all day and all night if I had to.  To make sure you have the perfect dress, the perfect armour to bring down your lover!  Now, shoes!”</p><p>“Shoes?” echoed Ginny, weakly.</p><p>“Of course!  They will have heels, of course, but not garishly huge.  With some dresses, yes, but these dresses, both of them, are designed to make the best of the body you have…”</p><p>Ginny was slightly disappointed; She would have liked the opportunity to bring herself up to everyone’s else’s height.</p><p>With a sound like rapping hail, a line of shoes appeared in front of her.  Most of them seemed to be made of glass, or crystal.  “No colour, of course,” stated Florence.  “The dresses you have already contain all the colour they need.  Try them!”</p><p>Florence’s ideas of garishly huge heels and Ginny’s didn’t entirely match:  Ginny gained at least three inches with any of the pair of shoes. </p><p>“Do you like them?” demanded Florence when Ginny had tried them all. </p><p>“Yes, very much!  Maybe they’re a bit high…”</p><p>“You will not fall off these heels!  The spells inside will keep you on your feet!  You will always feel secure!  Now, I can tell you are unsure.  Thus, I will choose!  <em>These</em> for the dress you are wearing.  <em>These </em>for the feathers.  Now, arms up!”</p><p>Ginny obeyed quickly, Florence flicked her wand, and the crescent moon whisked up and away from her.</p><p>Ginny, finding herself entirely naked, wrapped her arms uncertainly around her breasts.  She felt very self-conscious. </p><p>“Shoes!” demanded Florence.  Ginny stepped guiltily out of them.  At least she felt less exposed to view at her normal height.  She stooped quickly to retrieve her briefs and pulled them on.  “Can I have my robe?” she asked, hesitantly.  “And the rest?”</p><p>“Not the brassiere!” Florence decreed.  “We will not speak of it again!  But yes, of course, the robe if you demand it.”</p><p>A few minutes later, Ginny was stepping out of the shop, and the door closed behind her. </p><p>Suddenly she cringed and turned.  “Wait…!” she said, but when she tried it, the door was locked. </p><p><em>What was I THINKING?  </em>she demanded of herself.  <em>I can’t go out in EITHER of these dresses!  I need a proper one!  With a back, and a front, and sides, and somewhere to put my underwear!  </em></p><p>
  <em>What am I going to do?  </em>
</p><p>Could she turn up in her robe?  Beatrix would raise an eyebrow, but would that really matter?  And she didn’t have a young man to impress, to her knowledge.  Had Florence scammed her, somehow?</p><p>
  <em>Although that young man of Beatrix’s might be there.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Invitation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To Ginny’s distinct relief, Lavender was in the little house when she returned, eating dinner.</p><p>“Hi,” said Lavender, around a mouthful of food, as Ginny laid the huge boxes on the floor.</p><p>“Where’s Draco?” Ginny asked. </p><p>Lavender looked resigned.  “Great to see you too.  And I haven’t seen Draco since we started.  Are you hungry?” she asked.  “I’ll get you some…”</p><p>Ginny shook her head.  “I need your advice,” she said as she opened both boxes.  “I have to choose what I wear tonight, when I go to collect my wand.  Three choices:  Firstly, this:  My robe.”</p><p>Lavender looked at her in amazement.  “I’d turn up naked if <em>that</em> was the only other choice,” she said, flatly.</p><p>“Funny you should say that,” Ginny said shortly, pulling off her robe, careful not to disturb her hair.  She stripped off her briefs.</p><p>“Hey,” said Lavender.  “I was joking…”</p><p>“Wait…”</p><p>Which first?  She knelt, picked up the phoenix dress, flung it up in the air and held her arms up.  The feather dress dropped over her head.</p><p>Lavender gaped, gratifyingly. </p><p>The lower part of the dress was more like a swimsuit, Ginny realised, which was a relief.  She stepped into the heels that Florence had decreed.  “There…” she said.  The dress felt strange on her skin, away from the dress shop.  Were her instincts right here?</p><p>Lavender’s eyes were out on organ stops.  Ginny twisted around, a quarter turn at a time, giving her the side views and rear view.  The heels clacked on the hard floor.  “Do you like the beauty spot?” she asked.</p><p>“Ginny, you can’t wear that…” started Lavender, appalled. </p><p>“I thought you said you’d go naked first?” Ginny challenged.</p><p>“Well, yes, I did, but…”</p><p>“OK,” said Ginny with decision.  She kicked off the shoes and climbed into the second pair.  She stooped, picked up the crescent dress, flung it into the air and kept her arms aloft.  The phoenix dress flew upwards, and the crescent dress dropped over her head.  The feather dress dropped back into its box.</p><p>Lavender squealed.  She had the knuckles of both hands in her mouth, and her eyes were wide in disbelief.  “That’s not a dress,” she whimpered.</p><p>Ginny repeated her ninety-degree turns.  “It doesn’t cover a lot, does it?  You can also get this one with a nude back.  But I don’t think the stars would work so well.”</p><p>“They would in the dark,” muttered Lavender.  “Which is the only possible circumstance in which I’d wear that thing.”</p><p>“OK,” Ginny said, gratified now.  “Guess I’ll have to choose.  So what’s it like?”</p><p>“What’s what like?” asked Lavender.  “You mean the Ministry?  OK, I guess.”</p><p>“But what are you actually doing?”</p><p>“Sitting listening, mostly,” said Lavender.  “Trying to learn French.”</p><p>“With that lousy potion?” asked Ginny.</p><p>“Nope,” said Lavender.  “With lousy books.  I raised the subject – of a potion, I mean – and I just got blank stares.  So why are you so special?”</p><p>“I have no idea,” said Ginny, frankly.  “Apparently somebody asked for it, on my behalf.  But that someone still hasn’t stepped forward and said why.”</p><p>“What does Apolline say?”</p><p>“You’ve seen her,” said Ginny flatly, annoyed.  “I haven’t.  Well, OK, I have for about five minutes today but that’s all.  Can <em>you</em> ask her?”</p><p>“Don’t get your hopes up,” advised Lavender.  “I’ve only seen her for ten minutes, max.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ginny stepped outside into the early evening air, stopped, and swore.  She’d forgotten she had to be outside for part of the journey.  But as soon as she gritted her teeth and stepped down the path, something swirled around her, and she looked down.  She was wearing an insubstantial cloak, translucent, yet concealing her dress from onlookers.  Reassured, she walked down the path.  The heels felt strange on her feet; How long would it take for her feet to hurt?</p><p>It was another bothersome nuisance to have to twist so many times until she could Apparate successfully.  <em>Next time…</em></p><p>When she arrived at the circular house, Beatrix welcomed her in a friendly fashion, and seemed to bear no ill-will over the afternoon’s argument with Apolline.</p><p>“Undine you know, of course,” said Beatrix.  Ginny was surprised to see the girl from the shop, in a different but equally formal short dress, at Beatrix’s shoulder.  She didn’t look particularly friendly, but Ginny would settle for not being blamed for the telling off the girl had presumably received.  “And this is Gosse…”</p><p>Gosse was the beautiful young man who had answered the door earlier.  Was he Beatrix’s son?  Ginny muttered a red-faced something to him, but he didn’t seem pleased to see her, and was almost sulky now.  Contrariwise, she was already finding it hard to breathe in his presence, and it was difficult to look at him, as if he was the sun, or in her blind spot.</p><p>“Shall I take your cloak?” Beatrix asked.</p><p>Ginny’s fingers went to her cloud cloak, but as soon as her hand touched it, the cloak disappeared. </p><p>The indrawn breaths were all she could have hoped for.  She turned casually, to give them the full benefit, and enjoy their expressions.  She caught sight of herself in a mirror on one wall.  The crescent gleamed against her skin, and as she turned, the burning stars of her rear view caught the eye around the perfect disc of the entire moon.  <em>I’m a modern women, </em>she told herself silently. </p><p>Ginny was hurried into another room, amid compliments on her dress, and pressed to have a glass of red wine.  She found she was sitting on a huge white sofa, with Gosse sitting opposite, on an identical sofa, next to Beatrix, while Undine sat next to Ginny.  The fabric of the sofa felt strange on her partly-naked bottom.  His eyes were on her, looking at her curiously now – not just at her dress - and she had to keep her eyes on Beatrix, or her wine glass, and try to keep her mind away from the hunger she felt.</p><p>Gosse didn’t say much, to her disappointment, and Undine was nearly as silent, but Beatrix kept the conversation going, talking endlessly about the wine, the food, and its preparation.  Then she raised the subject of Ginny’s wand troubles, and Ginny could hear Undine huff in annoyance.</p><p>“But she demanded a wand,” protested Undine.  “Any wand…”</p><p> “Ginny, you must tell Undine everything that happened when you used the wand,” said Beatrix, with a glint in her eye.  “She will like that story.”</p><p>Ginny was disinclined to do so, having no desire to make an enemy of Undine, and tried to minimise the event, but under Madame Holombec’s merciless prompting she was forced to confess all that had happened.  Ginny felt sorry for Undine, and tried to give the story a comic flavour, and to her relief Undine was laughing by the end of it, her fingers over her face.  Even Gosse’s mouth had a wry twist, although he continued to stare at her, expressionlessly.</p><p>But Beatrix didn’t seem inclined to blame Undine.  “Always consult the wand table,” she said to her.  “Until you have committed it entirely to memory.  Even when a wand is demanded by the Ministry, or any other seeming expert.  Do you agree?”</p><p>“Well, yes,” said Undine, but she still seemed annoyed at the public criticism, and it seemed tactful to change the subject.  Ginny made herself look at Gosse.  “Are you in the wand business too?” she asked. </p><p>He frowned and shook his head.</p><p>“My son is an artist,” interposed Beatrix.  “You must ask him to show you his work.”</p><p>Gosse frowned even more then, and to Ginny it was evident that he wasn’t going to show her anything. </p><p>She still had some of the intriguing wine left, and took another sip.  Trying to look away from Gosse, she turned to Beatrix.  “Can I ask something else?” she asked.  Beatrix raised an eyebrow at her, politely. </p><p>“What does it mean…” Ginny asked carefully, “When a wand is made of holly – with a Phoenix feather core?”</p><p>Madame Holombec’s mouth quirked in amusement.  “Ah,” she said.  “I thought we might arrive at this question.”</p><p>“So…?” prompted Ginny.</p><p>“It is one that wandmakers the world over have long asked themselves, and each other.”</p><p>“Does that mean you don’t know?”</p><p>“It means we can’t be sure.  Of course, I would like to interview your Ollivander, but I suspect he would not allow that, particularly not with Veritaserum in the same country.  But…  Holly, yes, you understand now, a counterbalance for a strong wizard…”  She raised her glass in Ginny’s direction, who felt her face heat.  “But Phoenix feather?  A fascinating choice.  Not an unresponsive core.  Not like yours.”</p><p>“Is mine here?” Ginny asked, hopefully.  There had been no sign of it so far, to her disappointment.</p><p>“Yes, it is here, and you will have it before you leave this house.  I promise you.  But Phoenix…  What is the character of a Phoenix?”</p><p>“I’m not sure,” confessed Ginny.</p><p>“Strong…” supplied Gosse, uncertainly.</p><p>“Yes, strong,” nodded Beatrix.  “And?”</p><p>“Er…  Faithful?” suggested Undine.</p><p>“Good.  Yes.  But not <em>unquestioningly</em> faithful.  That would be the mark of… of a bully’s henchman.  No, the Phoenix understands faithfulness, when that faith is deserved.”</p><p>“So… what does that mean?” asked Ginny in puzzlement.</p><p>“I suppose,” said Beatrix, thoughtfully, “There is a kind of judgment.”</p><p>“I don’t understand,” Ginny said truthfully.</p><p>“Nor I,” put in Gosse.  Ginny jumped slightly, still too aware of him.  He looked over at Undine, inquiringly, who shook her head.  Was she his girlfriend?</p><p>“It means,” said Beatrix, “We <em>think</em> it means, that whenever the owner of a Phoenix feather wand creates a spell, that the core will decide how faithfully to obey that instruction.”</p><p>Ginny stared at her in horror.  “You mean… It could have decided not to work for Harry?”</p><p>“Possibly!  But that never happened, did it?  Harry Potter was always triumphant.  Because his wand had complete and unswerving faith in him.”</p><p>“But Voldemort…”  Ginny felt guilty when the others stirred uneasily at the mention of him.</p><p>“You use the name?” asked Beatrix, raising an eyebrow.  “You see, perhaps the Hidden Duke’s wand did <em>not</em> always obey him.  We cannot be sure!  Yes, it let him perform dreadful magic, yet I suspect it held back.  There were many terrible spells the Duke could have used, but I think that he knew his wand would not obey him, which must have stayed his hand.”</p><p>“Incredible,” said Gosse, quietly.  His voice made Ginny shiver.</p><p>“Of course,” said Beatrix, “We shall never know.  Both wands were destroyed, and I know of no other of that construction.”</p><p>“But Harry repaired it,” said Ginny, puzzled.</p><p>“Ah, but the repair did not work!  Not properly.  And no wand maker has been brave enough to make another.”</p><p><em>Was it a secret that Harry had repaired his wand?  </em>“Are they so rare?” asked Ginny, instead.</p><p>“But yes!  Because there are so many common couplings, you see.  Nineteen out of every twenty wands we see – More than that – are of barely half-a-dozen different combinations, out of hundreds of possibilities.  Wand makers are very conservative.  There is enough risk already in their lives!”</p><p>Undine stood suddenly.  “Can we eat now?” she asked.  She turned to Ginny and reached out a hand to her.  To Ginny’s heightened senses, the beautiful girl’s gesture seemed almost like an invitation, and it would have been hard not to obey. </p><p>“But of course,” said Beatrix, standing as well.  She reached out a hand to Gosse, who stood, his eyes still on Ginny. </p><p><em>If he doesn’t stop staring at me</em>, Ginny told herself, <em>I’m going to have to do something about it…</em></p><p>Dinner was exquisite:  The dining room was a circular room that appeared to have walls of glass.  In all directions, except for the open door, they seemed to be looking out at a jungle-like garden, and above them was an intense blue sky, although the sun wasn’t visible.  The table, on the other hand, was square, and white, and gleamed with cutlery and matching white plates.  They didn’t help themselves from serving dishes:  Instead Beatrix would flick her wand and a new plateful would appear in front of each of them, the colours and flavours vibrant and enticing.  The portions weren’t huge, to Ginny’s slight disappointment, nor filling, yet each plateful was an exploration.  Her hunger changed, but didn’t leave her, and the tension in her was tantalising.  Conversation took second place, which made it easier to focus on the food.</p><p>At least she didn’t have to face Gosse now, although she was hugely aware of him on her left, as he ate and drank.  He seemed to turn to look at her often, but if she happened to catch his eye there seemed no friendliness there, merely that frown.  Beatrix sat on her right, and Ginny found herself very aware of her too, her elegance and beauty and assurance.  And Undine, opposite her, would raise her eyes from her plate as she ate, and her searching look, in a face of angelic perfection, struck at Ginny’s senses as well.  She could feel her bloodstream fizzing, disconcerting her.  Ginny seemed to be a nexus of heightened awareness, in a web of beauty…</p><p>They were eating dessert now, a perfect foam of lemon and cream, and she made herself take tiny mouthfuls, to prolong the pleasure, even though the others had already finished.  She could sense Gosse still examining her, but by now she could force herself to avoid his eyes.</p><p>“Will you model for me?” he asked suddenly.</p><p>She looked up quickly, and the frown on his perfect face was still there, but she made herself hold his glance now.  “Model?” she asked. </p><p>His eyes were a very dark brown, darker than hers, and intent on her.  “For a work of art,” he said.  There was something predatory about his expression now.  A challenge in his eyes, a new alertness…</p><p>She had to stop staring at him!  She looked down; Her dessert now was a single line of cream, and she used her fork, slowly, to scrape it up, and eat it.</p><p>“Does it take long?” she asked, as casually as she could manage.  “I’m not sure I have much time...”</p><p>“Tonight,” said Gosse, tersely.  “Just tonight.”</p><p>There was such an intensity in her now.  She had tried to keep her mental - her emotional - distance from him all evening, and hide her feelings – her hunger - from all of them. </p><p>“All right,” she found herself saying, with forced nonchalance.</p><p>A sudden sigh of pleasure from Beatrix.  “Wonderful!  I hoped you would say yes!”</p><p>Ginny looked up at her in annoyance.  “Did you know he was going to ask me?” she asked.</p><p>“I could see him looking at you,” said Beatrix.  “I know what that means.”</p><p>A slight feeling of disappointment, then, because her feelings towards Gosse weren’t purely about being painted by him.</p><p>Gosse was standing, reaching out a hand to her.  “Come,” he said.  Blindly she took his hand and stood.  She found herself looking at Undine, and there was such a hunger in her.</p><p>He led her to the door, and Undine followed.  But Beatrix remained seated.  “There are things I must do,” she said to Ginny.  “Gosse will look after you.”</p><p>Gosse was pulling at her hand, urging her along the curving corridor.  “What are you thinking, Gosse?” Undine asked behind her.  But he didn’t reply.</p><p>The room he led them to appeared to be moonlit.  In the gloom she could see his wand was in his hand, and he flicked it in the air.  As she watched, the moon sank - a hypnotic sight - and then to her right the sky was lightening, turning to amber, and the sun appeared, dazzling her.  It stayed near the horizon, yet she could feel its warmth. </p><p>They seemed to be in a circular dome.  Around the walls were low shelves that held endless thin sheets – paintings? – but the sheets were stacked vertically, so their subjects were hidden.  Opposite the door was a life-sized sculpture of a female figure, taller than her, and she realised it was of Beatrix, naked…  Gosse was pulling her towards it.  His fingers on her bare arm seemed to burn her.</p><p>“I keep this,” he said, “Although Beatrix does not like it.”</p><p>“Beatrix thinks it makes her look old,” said Undine.</p><p>Ginny looked at it in awe.  True, the face was a little angular, but the body glowed with perfection.  Slender, elegant arms, one palm held out.  One hip was dropped, emphasising the careless beauty of the long legs.  Amazingly perfect breasts, above an equally perfect stomach.  Didn’t Beatrix mind being seen like this?</p><p>Undine took Ginny’s hand and led her around the sculpture. The sculpture was made of clay, Ginny decided, but despite this the hair of the figure, which hung down to her shoulder blades, seemed alive and real. </p><p>“Gosse is good with bottoms,” said Undine, reaching out to run her fingers across one of the sculpture’s buttocks. </p><p>Suddenly the sculpture’s hand moved, and slapped sharply at Undine’s hand.  Undine squawked and pulled her hand back.  “I hope he will do yours as well,” she said, rubbing the back of her hand.</p><p>Ginny shivered.  “He wants to make me out of clay?” she asked in amazement.  She turned to look at Gosse, who was standing next to the sculpture, still frowning at her.</p><p>“I rarely use clay,” said Gosse, seriously.  “And it would take too long.  I will paint you.”</p><p>Undine danced over to one of the racks of paintings.  “Here is one of me,” she said, pulling one out.  “My favourite.”  She crossed to a triangular frame and plonked the painting onto it. </p><p>The painting showed Undine, sitting on a wicker chair, wearing a superb multi-coloured dress, her wand held up in front of her, her eyes challenging the viewer.  Despite the colours of the dress, the eye was drawn to the girl’s beautiful face, her intense yet somehow innocent expression.   And the wand:  One of Beatrix’s, obviously, strangely asymmetric, decorated, catching the light intriguingly.  As she watched, the painted head turned, and the eyes glinted at her, the lips twisted minutely in amusement. Ginny shivered once more.</p><p>Gosse was there too, his hand coming up to gesture to the face of the portrait.  “This is what I wanted to capture,” he said, his voice hoarse.  “The life…”</p><p>“I will model with you,” said Undine in her ear.  “If you like.  And if Gosse wants me.” </p><p>The revealing sculpture, the beautiful painting, Undine’s voice near to her, Gosse’s presence, all boiled within Ginny, and she shook her head in confusion.  “Whatever you like,” she croaked.  She turned and looked at Gosse.  He stepped back, and his expression lightened. </p><p>“Yes!” he said, urgently.  “Like that.  That is the image I want.”</p><p>“What image?” asked Undine, with sudden interest.</p><p>“The offering,” he said.  “From the harem, where the women prepare the virgin to meet her new lord.”</p><p>“I’m not a virgin,” Ginny managed, huskily. </p><p>Gosse’s frown turned to a dark smile.  “For me, you are,” he said, and it seemed as if gravity had changed, and she was falling into his eyes. </p><p>He turned away and dragged another triangular support in front of them, and then darted across the room, returning with a blank grey rectangle that he rested on the support.  “I prepared this for something else,” he said distractedly.  “But it will serve.” </p><p>“Now,” he said, looking at her once more.  “Now we prepare you.”  <em>What does that mean? </em> Ginny’s heart was beating now.  </p><p>He crossed to a window, and Ginny blinked when he opened it, because it was a cupboard, full of clothes in a rainbow of colours.  His fingers – beautiful fingers, Ginny decided, dark, shapely and strong – brushed along the row of fabrics. </p><p>“This,” he said, and he was dragging out a voluminous layered dress that appeared to be made of spun gold.  The top layers were gauze, but beneath those was an embossed fabric, still gold, with a swirling pattern across it.  He handed it to Ginny, absentmindedly, but he was still searching.</p><p>“Undine…” he muttered.  “Where…?  I know it’s here…”</p><p>“Shall I try it on?” Ginny asked, uncertainly.  Would it fit?</p><p>“If you like,” said Gosse, distracted by his search. </p><p>“That’s beautiful,” said Undine, her eyes round.  “Let’s see!”  She led Ginny behind a screen, and put her hands up hesitantly to the crescent dress.</p><p>Ginny was disturbed now.  Wasn’t Gosse’s excitement purely about Undine, and not her?  But she took a breath and lifted her arms above her head, and the crescent dress whisked away from her, exposing her.  Undine helped her into the golden dress, and then was behind her, fastening it.  The fabric felt stiff and strange, the dress heavy and immediately warm. </p><p>“Your watch,” murmured Undine, and her hands were on Ginny’s left wrist.  Ginny was close to the girl’s soft straight hair, and her perfume, making Ginny’s head swim.</p><p>Gosse was crossing the room to a different cupboard and opening it.  Undine was taking her hand now and leading her across the room to a mirror.  The dress looked spectacular, and Undine’s admiring eyes on Ginny made her feel better about Gosse’s cavalier attitude.</p><p>“Ah!” said Gosse, suddenly.  He sounded more alive now, excited.  An exclamation of triumph, and he was dragging out a jacket, but a jacket of many bright colours – red and orange and white and flecks of green - with equally decorated sleeves.  With his other hand he brought out a pair of silky trousers, in more subdued autumn tones, yet somehow jacket and trousers brought each other alive.  “Here,” he said to Undine.</p><p>Undine took the clothes from him, and fingered the fabrics, then held them against herself.  The jacket was extravagantly embroidered with symmetrical patterns down the front.  The trousers were gauzy, translucent.  Her eyes came up to Ginny, uncertainly.</p><p>“Go change,” said Gosse, urgently.  “But just this, yes?  Nothing else.”</p><p>“Nothing…?” echoed Undine, uncertainly.  “But it’s just a jacket…  And the trousers are…”</p><p>“See-through,” put in Ginny.</p><p>Undine gave her a strangely intense look, her arms wrapped around the clothes.  She turned and left.</p><p>Gosse closed the cupboard door and turned towards Ginny, his eyes searching the dress.  “Mmh,” he said.  “Stand here,” he said gesturing to the floor in front of the canvas on the triangular frame.  “Turn this way…  More…”  He looked at her thoughtfully.  “Your shoulders…  Down…  Back…”  He gestured, and she tried to do what he wanted.  He gazed some more, thoughtfully.</p><p>“Undine?” he called.  “Are you ready?”</p><p><em>This is just about Undine</em>, Ginny thought in annoyance.  <em>I should just leave them to it.</em></p><p>She could hear Undine’s hurried bare feet behind her.  Abandoning her pose, Ginny turned to look.  Undine’s jacket was closer to a waistcoat, and hung open to show Undine’s slender stomach, and the sides of her delicate breasts.  Her bare legs and more were clearly seen through the material of the trousers.  She was looking at Ginny with that uncertain expression again.  Was she seeking reassurance?  Praise?</p><p>“You look wonderful,” Ginny said.  Her mouth was dry.  The delicate beauty of the girl, her soft brown hair tumbling onto the colours of her jacket, her figure gilded by the exotic clothes… </p><p>Undine’s eyes cleared, and she was smiling diffidently at Ginny.  “Thank you,” she said.  “You look…”  But then that uncertainty was back.</p><p>“Look this way,” said Gosse behind her.  Ginny turned.  He was close to her now, and his eyes were on her, on her dress, her eyes, her hair.  Her chest felt tight beneath the roughness of the dress.</p><p>“Now,” he said.  “Remove the dress,” he said. </p><p>“<em>Remove </em>it?  But there’s…” <em>Nothing underneath it</em>, she wanted to add.</p><p>“Of course,” he said.  <em>Meaning what?</em>  He seemed to be humming with tension.  Yet his eyes weren’t lustful, or possessive, but intense, determined. </p><p>“I’ll do it,” said Undine behind her.  Ginny could feel her fingers on the fastenings, and the dress coming free, heavier now. </p><p>“Let it drop,” said Gosse, and the dress was slipping down her shoulders, then subsiding onto the floor around her with a whisper.  She looked up at Gosse, but his eyes were on the dress.  “Good,” he said.  He knelt and rearranged the folds of the dress, ignoring the naked girl standing in front of him.  “Good,” he said again, and stood, and stepped back.  “Ginny, look at me…”</p><p>The air seemed to have left the room, and lifting her eyes from the floor to his gaze was the hardest thing she had ever done. </p><p>“Good… Undine, close behind her, as if you are about to touch her…  Left.  More…  Turn your head towards Ginny…  Your right hand… rest it on her arm.  Up… more…  That’s right.  Ginny?  Turn your body to your left, but keep looking here…”  She could feel the rough material around her ankles.  “Yes,” said Gosse.  “Remember, look right at me, Ginny.”  It was an effort to do so.  “Yes!  You are being prepared to lose your virtue,” said Gosse.  “To me, the observer.  You tell yourself: I must forget about the boy I was going to wed at home.  My life is going to be very different now.”</p><p><em>I think it already is</em>, Ginny decided. </p><p>“Think about my eyes on you, on your figure,” said Gosse.  “Of my glance on your secret places…  Yes…!”</p><p>Ginny could feel the warmth of Undine behind her now, and a bubbling arousal in her bloodstream.  Would Gosse see that, in her eyes, on her skin?</p><p>“Now, Undine, I want a triangle of love here,” said Gosse.  “You see your love for Ginny is no longer matched, that she desires another, and you are lustful yet angry…  Yes.  Ginny, your look should be unsure, but you are full of desire for me…  Yes, that is perfection.”</p><p><em>It should be perfection</em>, Ginny decided, <em>because that is exactly how I feel.</em></p><p>Gosse had a small wand in his hand and was drawing, rapidly, his eyes darting at them, so piercingly that she could feel it, then returning to the canvas.  They were in silence.  It seemed more natural to be entirely naked now, but the sensation of Undine close behind her continued to disturb her.  It wasn’t hard now to keep looking at Gosse, because his words were echoing constantly in her head.  <em>Life is going to be very different now.</em></p><p>Ginny had no way of judging time – the sun never moved, and there was no clock she could see – but she must have stood there for the best part of two hours.  Her body was aching after a while, but she made herself remain still.  She was aware of occasional small movements and throat-clearings from Undine behind her.</p><p>“OK,” Gosse said eventually.  “You can both move now.”  Ginny could hear a sigh of relief from Undine behind her, the girl’s touch left her arm, and Ginny could sense Undine move away.  “But Ginny, I want you to stay there, so I can paint you.  Your skin, you understand.  I know the colours of Undine, I can do that later, but I need to capture you.  Those strange highlights, the blushes in your skin, the paleness.  And your hair, of course.  But you can move, and talk, if you want to.”</p><p><em>Anything I want to say</em>, thought Ginny, <em>is to you, and any words would be wildly inappropriate, and utterly private…</em></p><p>There was a step behind them, and Ginny recognised the sound of glass heels.  “Ah!” said Beatrix.  Ginny felt horribly embarrassed to be discovered like this, but made herself not move. </p><p>“What do you think of my clothes, Beatrix?” asked Undine, behind her.  “Should I wear them to the shop?”</p><p>Beatrix laughed, merrily.  “If you wish to, darling,” she said.  “When I sell my entire stock in a day, I will know why.”</p><p>Ginny watched Beatrix cross to the painting, and saw her eyebrows rise, and then she was turning to stare at Ginny.  “Oh!” she said.  <em>What did that mean?</em>  Gosse paid her no attention, but continued to concentrate on the painting.  Ginny made herself stay silent, and motionless.  <em>I’ve waited this long</em>, she told herself.</p><p>She could see Beatrix’s eyes moving between the painting, Gosse and her, but was unable to read her thoughts.  What had Gosse painted?</p><p>“I have not yet apologised to you, Ginny,” said Beatrix.  “I have delayed unduly.” </p><p>“What do you mean?” Ginny welcomed the distraction.  <em>How long will it be</em>, she wondered, <em>before Gosse guesses what I’m thinking?</em></p><p>“I could have given you your wand hours ago,” said Beatrix.  “And let you go home.”</p><p>“I’ve had a great time here,” said Ginny, sincerely.  “And I don’t need my wand until tomorrow.”  Or was it tomorrow already?</p><p>“But I was selfish,” continued Beatrix.</p><p>“Selfish how?”</p><p>Beatrix moved towards her and stared into her eyes, as if seeking something.  “You do not understand wand lore, I know,” she said, a teacher now.  “A wand is not just a piece of clever wood that can perform magic.  It is a channel, too.”</p><p>“Channel?”  They were very close to each other, distracting her even more.  Beatrix was as beautiful as Undine, she decided. An eagle instead of a doe.</p><p>“Why do we only give wands to children when they reach puberty?  It is not simply about responsibility, and protecting them from danger.  It is about their sexuality.”</p><p>“At <em>eleven</em>?”</p><p>“But of course.  We protect our children from encountering sex until their minds and bodies mature, but it is there, in their blood.  And the wand needs that.”</p><p>Ginny could only look round at the others in confusion.</p><p>“Did you not have a passion for anyone, even at that age?” asked Beatrix.</p><p>“I suppose,” Ginny said, guardedly.</p><p>“But of course!” said Beatrix.  “For Harry Potter!  Although you are telling me not to pry into your heart…  Well, whenever you cast a spell, the wand is drinking from that part of you.  In some, that well is deeper than others.  It is clear, to me, that you are such.”</p><p>“It’s clear to me too,” put in Gosse, still intent on his painting. </p><p>“But,” started Ginny, uncomfortably, but her words dried.  Beatrix was very close to her, and it seemed that both she and Gosse had leapt her mental barriers, that she had no privacy at all now, that she was naked in every sense…  She tried to keep her eyes on Gosse’s head.  <em>I’m here to be painted</em>, she told herself.  <em>Nothing else.</em></p><p>“There are varying levels of sexual depth, of course,” Beatrix went on.  “In extremity, madness and death, but that is rare.  Or an enlarged Patronus.  But that intensity brings more potent spell casting, particularly noticeable in duelling.  And other things, of course…”</p><p>Ginny turned to stare at Beatrix in amazement.  “What did you say?” she asked.  “About Patronuses?”</p><p>“Ah, it is interesting, that one,” said Beatrix.  “Most Patronus are about the same size, yes?  Dogs and foxes.  Or slightly smaller, like squirrels.  Animals like that.  A small adjunct to the owner.  But for some witches – it is mostly witches, but occasionally wizards as well – the Patronus is considerably bigger.”</p><p>“How big?” Ginny asked, fascinated.</p><p>“Huge,” said Beatrix with relish.  “Like… like… a small horse.  Or a stag…”</p><p><em>Harry’s is a stag</em>, Ginny thought, mesmerised.</p><p>Beatrix was looking at her in surprise.  “What?” she asked.</p><p>“My Patronus used to be a fox,” Ginny said slowly.  “But then it changed.”</p><p>Beatrix nodded.  “That can happen.  Because of emotional trauma, usually.  Loss of confidence.  Things like that.  So now it is a smaller animal, yes?  A mouse, something of that sort?  Do not worry.  When your emotions are steady, it will change back.  Well, usually…”</p><p>Ginny shook her head.</p><p>Beatrix tensed.  “<em>Larger</em>?” she asked, intently.</p><p>“Yes,” said Ginny. </p><p>“<em>How</em> large?” demanded Beatrix. </p><p>“A rhinoceros,” said Ginny.</p><p>Beatrix stared at her, wide-eyed, open-mouthed.  “No,” she said.</p><p>“It’s true,” said Ginny, fearfully.</p><p>“Can you show me…?” asked Beatrix in excitement.  “No, of course, you will need your wand…  Patience, Beatrix, patience…”</p><p>“Can’t I have my wand now?”</p><p>“Wait,” entreated Beatrix.  She reached for Ginny’s hands, and took them in her own, pacifying and entreating her.  “Just for a while longer…  I haven’t completed my confession yet.  And I am disturbed, now.  I think I have done you a great disservice…”</p><p>“What confession?” asked Ginny in confusion.</p><p>“Here it is,” said Beatrix.  She pushed Ginny’s hands together and wrapped them in hers, and looked earnestly into her eyes.  She sounded embarrassed, to Ginny’s surprise.  “The wand drinks from that well inside you, as I told you.  But what happens when a wand is lost, or destroyed?”</p><p>Ginny could only shake her head, her hands pinned.</p><p>“The well deepens, of course!  And for a passionate witch, or wizard, it can overflow.  I talked about madness.  For some who lose a wand, insanity is the result.  Within weeks!  Now, there are spells…”</p><p>“Spells?” croaked Ginny.</p><p>“Hexes, really,” replied Beatrix.  “To suppress magic.  They are very crude spells, that prevent magic over an area.  But they are useful in preventing further damage to spell victims.  And in prisons, of course.  You do not want prisoners escaping, or attacking everybody…  What was I saying?  Oh, yes!  You have not been given that spell!  Lust is a kind of insanity, yes?  Forcing us to mate, ignoring poverty, or an unsuitable mate.  And overflowing lust is… relentless.”</p><p>That last word seemed to resonate in Ginny’s head, and her thoughts were dragged back to the lake, and the barn, and what had happened there.  But her eyes were on Gosse.</p><p>
  <em>Relentless.</em>
</p><p>“There is no choice but to bow to it,” Beatrix was saying.  “And behaviour becomes extreme.  Nothing is out of the ordinary then, do you understand?  Inhibitions no longer exist…  And in a witch as powerful as you…  I invited you here, because I wanted to encounter that.  I am sorry.  It was purely selfish.” </p><p>“That is enough,” said Gosse then.  “You can sit, or whatever you want.”</p><p>Beatrix put her arms around Ginny and hugged her, and Ginny was embracing her as well, hugely conscious of her naked skin against the other’s dress, even while Beatrix’s words filled her mind.  She found herself dizzily kissing Beatrix’s cheek.  “You need to see what Gosse has done,” Beatrix whispered in her ear.</p><p>
  <em>Relentless.</em>
</p><p>Ginny, still unsure, her thoughts chaotic, allowed Beatrix to lead her towards the new painting.  Undine, still in her harem clothes, was already there, eyes wide.  Gosse stepped back to give them room, still frowning at the canvas. </p><p>Undine was only partly complete, although her figure and face were unmistakably hers, in loving detail.  Her clothes were a riot of colour, yet the eye was drawn to the pale skin beneath them.  But the face was even more revealing.  Such arousal, such hunger now.</p><p>
  <em>Relentless.</em>
</p><p>The dress on the floor around Ginny caught the eye, its extravagant folds pure beauty.  The fabric was mostly sketched, apart from an area in front of her forward foot which was shown in wonderful detail, the curving pattern of the softer material showing between the stiffer curves of the gauze.</p><p>Somehow she didn’t feel any embarrassment at seeing her own nakedness, but was instead filled with wonder at the artist’s skill, how he saw her body in all its elegant design.  Gosse had captured the riot of colour in Ginny’s hair, burning in the magical sunlight, and his bright paints flattered her body, her skin.  But it was her own expression, in a face that was inarguably hers, that fascinated her:  Her consciousness of Undine behind her.  Her eyes, turned towards the painter, direct, burning, strangely truculent.  Cautious, yet showing such determination, such lust, such promise of intent.  Ginny was shaken.</p><p>
  <em>Relentless.</em>
</p><p>“What do you think?” whispered Beatrix in her ear.  “He sees so much!”</p><p>“Yes,” managed Ginny.  Her voice was a croak now.  “Too much…”</p><p>She turned to look at Gosse.  His eyes were on her, unreadable.</p><p>
  <em>Relentless.</em>
</p><p>“Come, Undine,” said Beatrix behind her.  “We have things to do.”</p><p>“But I…” began Undine.</p><p>“We must go,” insisted Beatrix.</p><p>Ginny found she had stepped right up to Gosse.  Her shaking hands were on him now…  Did he know how beautiful he was?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Gift</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny awoke in Gosse’s huge bed.  His room had glass walls too, and ceiling, and far above she could see clouds, high and broken, with the moon peeping through them.  Gosse, next to her, was breathing evenly, and even when she leaned over him, playfully, he stayed steadfastly asleep.  It seemed unkind to prod him awake, but she was too restless to stay at his side, so she climbed out of bed. </p>
<p>She wanted to explore the house, and investigate how a series of circular rooms nestled within the larger circle of the whole house, but she had no clothes.  Her dress was still in the studio…  She nosed quietly through Gosse’s cupboards until she found a flimsy pale cream dressing gown, too long for her, but it was enough, and it was Gosse’s.  <em>Or his lover’s?  I know nothing about Gosse.</em></p>
<p>When she opened the bedroom door, a strange noise distracted her – like insects buzzing, yet a drier sound, often interrupted - and she followed the sound along the looping corridors. </p>
<p>The buzzing was coming from behind a closed door; She hesitated briefly before cracking the door open and peeping around the edge.  The room was circular once more, but this one was neither bedroom, living room nor studio.  There were strange devices laid out across the room, in between high benches.  Undine was behind one of these, preoccupied, dressed in a plain white robe.  She looked up suddenly, and the sound stopped.  She held a small wand in her hand. </p>
<p>“This was meant to be a surprise,” said Undine.  “But by this time, it probably doesn’t matter.”</p>
<p>“What doesn’t?”</p>
<p>“Come and see,” said Undine, stepping back, squinting at the thing on the bench in front of her.</p>
<p>A narrow rod – less than an inch in diameter, nearly a yard long, and a silvery grey – lay along the bench, nestling along on a long v-shaped support.  What looked like bark at first was in fact carving, covering the entire surface.  It wasn’t an even cylinder, she realised.  The rod had numerous planed surfaces that merged into each other, or met at angles.</p>
<p>“What is it?” Ginny asked.</p>
<p>“Your wand, of course,” said Undine.</p>
<p>“<em>This</em>…?  It’s huge…”</p>
<p>“I use an <em>Engorgio</em> spell,” explained Undine.  “So I can work on it.”  She looked around vaguely.  “I think it’s twenty-six centimetres at normal size.  So, slightly smaller than average...”</p>
<p>How big had her old wand been?  Ginny wondered.   But… “You <em>made</em> it?” asked Ginny, amazed.</p>
<p>Undine shook her head.  “Beatrix created it.  It’s one of her new shapes.  Very chic, don’t you agree?  So interesting to work with… The wood is holly, of course.”  She leaned forward, squinting at the surface, and brought the little wand close to the rod.  A tiny bead of light appeared between wand and rod, and a plane of white dust was spraying away from the light. And once more that strange buzzing, crackling sound.</p>
<p>“You’re <em>engraving </em>it?” asked Ginny in amazement.</p>
<p>Undine was continuing to examine the wand, minutely.  “I think you have fascinated Beatrix,” she said.  “She asked me to do this.”</p>
<p>“What, in the middle of the night?” Ginny was aghast now.</p>
<p>“It’s morning now,” Undine said.  “Don’t worry.  I enjoy this.  And I think you have intrigued me too.”</p>
<p>“It’s gorgeous,” said Ginny, humbly.  “I don’t know how to thank you enough.”  And it was beautiful.  She bent closer, and could see the huge complexity of the carving.  In some places there were sweeping near-parallel lines, in others there were patterns of tiny spiky leaves - holly leaves, she realised – and elsewhere rows of intricate symbols, yet somehow the carvings made a united whole, cherishing and decorating the planes of the wand. </p>
<p>“You can touch it if you want,” said Undine.  “It’s not awake yet.”  She brought the tiny wand close once more, and the light shone, and buzzed.  Ginny, intent on the wand, found her head was close to Undine’s, her eyes inches from the girl’s soft brown hair.  <em>But can I touch you?  </em>She made herself concentrate on the wand.</p>
<p>“And you can feel the wand,” said Undine.  “As you carve.  It’s telling you how it wants to be.  How to make it beautiful…  Put your hand on mine…”  She took Ginny’s hand with her left hand and rested it on her wand hand.  She brought her own wand back over the huge wand, and the light was back, and the buzz.  “Do you feel it?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” replied Ginny, but she found her eyes were on Undine’s hand beneath hers, pale under pale.  Strangely, their hands were similarly shaped:  Small, but wide, with pronounced wrist bones.</p>
<p>Another bead of light…  Undine’s head turned, and the girl’s eyes were examining her.   The grey lines under them made her look older, more assured, somehow, but no less beautiful.  Ginny leaned in and gave her a brief, dry kiss on the lips, to Undine’s surprise.  The girl turned back to the wand, and ran her fingers lightly over her latest improvement.  Ginny wrapped her arms around her, and Undine didn’t object, and put her fingers up to stroke Ginny’s hands. Ginny reached out to the wand in Undine’s hand and gently pulled it from her, and laid it on the bench.  Undine’s eyes turned to look at her, inquiringly.</p>
<p>“It’s perfect,” Ginny said.  “Don’t do any more.”  Then her hand was on Undine’s cheek, and she was kissing her again, and then more strongly.</p>
<p>She could feel Undine’s hands on her through Gosse’s dressing gown, and her hands were on Undine’s sides.  She remembered her glimpse of Undine’s breasts, peeping out from the harem jacket, and her hands went to undo the girl’s robe, sliding apart the sides, running her hands along her bare skin. </p>
<p>“No!” said Undine, stiffening.  “No!”  She pushed Ginny away, and then her own hands went to her robe, and fastened it once more. </p>
<p>Ginny, hurt and puzzled, put her hands on Undine’s sides, and tried to kiss her once more, but Undine would only consent to the briefest kiss.  “Not now…” she said.  She tensed suddenly, then she was pushing herself away from Ginny.  Before she could say more, the door opened. </p>
<p>“So much for our surprise,” said Beatrix.  “Let me see,” she said.  They stepped back so Beatrix could examine the wand, critically.  She was in a long silky gown, mostly white and gold.  Ginny stood beside Undine and watched Beatrix, awkwardly.  She felt like a silly schoolgirl, who didn’t know the rules.  “Undine was trained as a magical architect,” Beatrix said over her shoulder to Ginny.  “Did she tell you that?  I do not regret leading her into this technique.  Our customers love her work.  You can see why, I think…”</p>
<p>A breathy laugh from Undine.  “Most of the time I stand around in the shop,” she said.  “These remarks are Beatrix’s way of making me stay.”</p>
<p>“It’s beautiful, Undine,” said Ginny.  “You know it is.” </p>
<p>Undine reached out to her little wand and flicked it.  The new wand shrank to the size of a normal wand, so it looked tiny on the support.  “Do you have the core?” she asked Beatrix. </p>
<p>Ginny was interested to see this, even though she was less sure about viewing Dragon innards.</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Beatrix.  “But I have a final confession for Ginny.”  She turned to her.  “I ordered a Dragon heartstring, as I promised, and it arrived yesterday afternoon.  But… By that time, I knew you better, you see.  So I sent it back.”</p>
<p>“Sent it <em>back</em>?” asked Ginny, in horror.  “Why?”  Would she have to wait even longer?</p>
<p>“This is a risk, perhaps.  And an experiment…  Yesterday evening I travelled to England.  To Hogwarts.”</p>
<p>“<em>’Ogwarts</em>?” Undine asked in mystification.  “What have you done?” </p>
<p>Beatrix produced a narrow rectangular case, about the size of a wand box.  She placed the box on the bench, next to the new wand, and pulled out her own wand, a brilliant multi-faceted stick that gleamed like a diamond.  She gave a graceful flick with the wand, and the box opened.  Her other hand was on Ginny’s shoulder, urging her forward.</p>
<p>Ginny was expecting the box to hold another wand, but instead something much thinner nestled within, gleaming orange.</p>
<p>“Like your hair,” said Beatrix, in her ear.  “It’s a Phoenix feather, Ginny.  A feather from the same bird that provided the core for Harry Potter’s wand.” </p>
<p>“Fawkes,” Ginny breathed in wonder.</p>
<p>Another caressing stroke of the wand, and the feather was alive.  It was twisting, rising from the box, moving unerringly towards the holly stick.  The wand rose into the air, and the feather was coiling around it, yet never touching it, as if the feather was alive, and exploring.</p>
<p>The feather resembled a thread-like snake now, the narrowing length its tail, the broader end a head, searching, searching... </p>
<p>Beatrix’s hand tightened on Ginny’s shoulder.  The head of the snake reared until it was touching the tip of the wand – and then it was disappearing inside. </p>
<p>The wand was singing now, a whine on the edge of hearing, as the core merged into it, until the feather had entirely disappeared.  Then silence. </p>
<p>“Take it, Ginny,” murmured Beatrix.  “It is yours, with our love.”</p>
<p>Ginny reached out to touch the still-hovering wand, and as her fingers made contact, there was a surge within her, and she was surrounded by light, dimming the rest of the room.  </p>
<p>“Ah!” cried Beatrix in delight, and she could hear a hissing breath from Undine.</p>
<p>The wand was snugly in Ginny’s hand now, as if it belonged there, and she was mesmerised by the complex gleam along the filigreed surface of the wand.  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.  “Thank you.  Thank you so much…”</p>
<p>Undine was on her other side now, her hands on her, her lips at her ear.  “It likes light,” the girl murmured.  “Try the <em>Lumos</em> spell…” </p>
<p><em>“Lumos</em>,” whispered Ginny, and the room was filled with light.</p>
<p>“Wonderful!” Beatrix whispered.  “Please, Ginny, please show us your Patronus!”</p>
<p>“<em>Here</em>?” asked Undine in amazement.</p>
<p>Beatrix shook her head with energy.  “No, of course… Not here…  Come!”  She seized an elbow of both girls.</p>
<p>“Beatrix!” exclaimed Undine.  “We’re not…”</p>
<p>They were twisting, the walls around them were whipped away, and they were on mildly sloping grass, with a breeze playing around them.</p>
<p>“… dressed!” Undine finished.  “<em>Beatrix</em>!”</p>
<p>The grass was dotted with huge beautiful trees.  They were in parkland, and Ginny could see animals moving in the distance, grazing.  Deer, she decided.  The breeze was cold, playing around Ginny’s dressing gown, onto her bare skin.  “Brrr!” exclaimed Undine, crossing her arms on her chest.</p>
<p>“Your Patronus, Ginny!” said Beatrix, her voice excited.</p>
<p>Ginny’s mind was full of Gosse, of Undine, of her crescent dress, of the painting, her skin alive with the effect of the magnificent wand in her hand.  Her new loyal friend, her powerful servant, her beautiful companion…</p>
<p>
  <em>“Expecto Patronum!”</em>
</p>
<p>The wand pulsed, thrillingly.  Something flew from the end…  No, <em>two </em>somethings.  <em>Two?</em>  What had happened to her rhinoceros?</p>
<p>Her rhino had a companion.  Now there were two huge rhinoceros, identical twins, bounding through the air away from her, butting each other playfully, circling each other, running in widening circles.</p>
<p>“Incredible!” Beatrix was shouting.  “Amazing!”</p>
<p>Undine was shivering, wide-eyed with astonishment, and Ginny triumphantly put her free hand around her, feeling the girl’s smoothly perfect skin through the thin robe.  She turned to kiss her, hungrily, but Undine was pushing her back, and laughing. </p>
<p>“No,” said Undine, “Not yet.”  But she was smiling, a warm smile, a smile of the pride in being admired, and loved.  “When your wand has taught you gentleness once more, then I might...  For now, perhaps you should return to Gosse.  He will be awake by now, and wondering where you have gone.  Perhaps he can satisfy that extra passion in you!”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. A Job Offer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“We owe you an apology,” Apolline was saying.  “My husband and I.”</p><p>As far as Ginny’s senses could tell her, they were in a small clearing in a wood.  There was abundant grass below Ginny’s feet, and there were nodding bluebells growing among the grass stalks.  She could feel the sun on her face.  But Ginny knew this was illusion – over there was a door that led out into a marble corridor in the French Ministry of Magic.  And she knew this was a Ministry meeting room, but Apolline appeared to be sitting on the other side of a huge tree stump, one that flared out strangely so there was somewhere to put their feet.  Their chairs were bowls of leaves, soft and pliable, yet strong enough to support Ginny’s weight without complaint.  The faintest breeze played about her.  Small exotically coloured birds cheeped quietly above her, and flew and hopped from branch to branch.</p><p>“Really?” asked Ginny, bringing her attention back from all this to Apolline.  “Why?” </p><p>Apolline seemed to be having trouble meeting her eyes, and Ginny’s heart plummeted.  <em>What’s wrong?</em></p><p>“I need to tell you now,” said Apolline, “That Toussaint – that my husband - has misled you.  I am not an Auror.”</p><p>Her words were like lightning on a bright summer day.  “You’re not?” asked Ginny in horror.  Her dreams had taken a hammering recently, but now they were in shattered pieces around her feet.  “Why did he say that, then?” she demanded indignantly.</p><p>Apolline brought up her hand, her expression concerned.  “Please!  You must listen!  He had to say that, because he could not tell the truth.  About me, I mean.”</p><p>“<em>What</em> truth?”</p><p>“You must swear not to tell anyone this without my permission,” said Apolline, urgently.  “Anyone.  Not Malfoy, not Brown, not your parents.  No-one.”</p><p>“Tell them what?”</p><p>“Please swear.”</p><p>“OK!  I swear!  I won’t tell anyone else!”</p><p>“I am not an Auror…”</p><p>“But he <em>said</em>!”</p><p>“…I am a member of our Department of Mysteries.  In English, an Unspeakable.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>”</p><p>“And I wanted you to become one, too.”</p><p>“<em>Me</em>?”</p><p>“Please listen.  It would have been a good scheme, to present you as an Auror, but for you to be our agent as well.  You are well known, you see.  Even here.  But what better disguise for an Invisible, than a simple Auror?  Everyone would dismiss you.  They would look everywhere but <em>at</em> you.  They would see you as a pawn, not as a royal piece.  Our plans were in place.  Then, of course, you were arrested, and escaped.  You are no longer famous, you are notorious.  Our Minister has withdrawn her permission.  We are pinned, now.”</p><p>Ginny was numbed, dizzied, overturned.  Never had such a wonderful dream built in her mind, nor been destroyed so quickly and utterly.  “So… do I go back home now?” she asked, with rising anger.  “Or straight to Azkaban?”</p><p>“No.  Of course not.”</p><p>“And what about Draco?   And Lavender?” asked Ginny.  “Are you chucking them out, too?”  She could hear the hostility in her own voice.</p><p>“We’re not dismissing anyone,” said Apolline, patiently.  “Our research team have specifically requested Mr Malfoy’s assistance, to explore his knowledge of the British Death Eater conspiracy.  I hope you can explain to him how important this is to the Department.”</p><p>“I’ll try,” said Ginny, in resignation.  “When I see him.  What about Lavender?”</p><p>“We wish to train her.  This is speculative at the moment, but I am hopeful the Department will recognise her skills, and find a permanent position.”</p><p>“So you need them, but don’t need me?”</p><p>“No, that is not true.  My section is very keen to employ your skills, but we are trapped by our Ministry’s desire to remain on good terms with the British.”</p><p>“But you don’t mind upsetting them to get Draco and Lavender!”</p><p>“Please don’t emphasise this to your friends,” said Apolline, apologetically.  “But the British Ministry really doesn’t care how we use them.  But <em>you</em> have hurt Dawlish’s pride badly.  If we could promise a two-metre-deep hole in the ground for you, he would agree in a breath.”</p><p>“Thanks,” said Ginny, bitterly.</p><p>“We cannot afford to upset Mr Dawlish at the moment.  We need his goodwill in a number of endeavours.  So we wait.  We wait for your Ministry to soften, or for our own senior people to resolve their attitude towards the British.  Who knows how long that will take?”</p><p>“Who knows?” echoed Ginny in annoyance.  “So what do I do in the meantime?  Which could take years?”</p><p>“The Holombec household would welcome you with open arms…”</p><p>“And my life goes nowhere!  I need something to <em>do</em>!”</p><p>“It is only for a period,” said Apolline, soothingly.  “And it is certainly not recommended that you return to England at the moment.”</p><p>“Fine!  And do what?  Keep Gosse’s bed warm for him?”</p><p>“I only wish to help,” said Apolline. </p><p>“Then find me a proper job!”</p><p>“I will do my very best to assist,” said Apolline, placatingly.  “In fact I have found something…”</p><p>“You <em>have</em>?  So what are we arguing about here?”</p><p>“It is not the job I promised you.  It is not with the Auror department, or the Department of Mysteries.”</p><p>“Then what is it?”</p><p>Apolline paused, delicately.  “How would you like to be an Assistant?”</p><p>“An assistant what?”</p><p>“No, no.  An Assistant.  A junior teacher.  At Beauxbatons Academy…”</p><p>“<em>Me</em>?  A <em>teacher</em>?”</p><p>“Let me explain,” said Apolline.  “There is a new headmaster of Beauxbatons.  His name is Raduard de Metz.  And you already know him.”</p><p>Raduard de Metz, Apolline explained, was the wheelchair-bound twisted remains of a man who had been at the werewolf test. </p><p>“Ordinarily,” Apolline explained.  “And ideally, a new headmaster at Beauxbatons Academy would be a younger man than Raduard.  But the man who led his country’s fight against the Hidden Duke is a special case, you will agree.  And he was head there before, in his younger days.  He’s like you,” Apolline said.  “He needs occupying, he says.  His brain is still excellent, and he fully realises that he is no longer the man to lead the Auror initiative back to the heights.  Now that the previous headmistress has left to start a family, returning to Beauxbatons was his choice.  A milder occupation for him, than fighting the Hidden Duke.”</p><p><em>Previous headmistress?</em>  Ginny was confused now; She would have noticed, she was pretty sure, the half-Giant Olympe at Hogwarts.  Particularly a pregnant one.</p><p>Apolline was still talking.  “There are many powerful magicians at Beauxbatons, of course,” she was saying.  “More, perhaps, than at ‘Ogwarts.”</p><p>Ginny didn’t argue.  She already understood the pride the French had for their own wizards and witches, and she wasn’t personally in a position to judge between the merits of leading British and French lights.</p><p>“But they are solely academics,” continued Apolline.  “They are not fighters.  Raduard is hugely important to us, and we are concerned that there are still elements in the country - and in the world - who wish him harm.  He is a man of courage, and is firmly of the opinion that he can protect himself.  But we – the Department, I mean – believe that his physical condition leaves him exposed to considerable danger.  So we wish him to have someone to hand he can call on, if necessary.”</p><p>“<em>Me</em>?”</p><p>“Yes.  You are highly suitable.  According to Beatrix Holombec, an unusually powerful witch.  Yet you are young and relatively unknown here.  What better person to be the concealed strength that Raduard can rely on in case of great need?”</p><p>“But what do I <em>do</em>?”</p><p>“Mostly nothing, I admit,” said Apolline.  “But that is the job of a security agent.  To be there.  To wait, and be ready, and to act if necessary.  But your cover will be as an Assistant.  Beauxbatons Academy is not accustomed to use such people – the school demands the entire teaching staff to be experts – but the idea of an Assistant is known and understood, and will be accepted by all.  Well, almost all.”</p><p>“Almost all?  Meaning what?”</p><p>Apolline had the grace to look embarrassed.  “The principal exception is Raduard himself.  He is opposed to the thought of you protecting him.  He is a brave man – the bravest – and believes he can entirely protect himself.”</p><p> </p><p>“I consider this interference,” said Madame Allaire, Head of Humanities at Beauxbatons Academy.  “Miss…  What’s your name again?”</p><p>“Duchaine,” said Ginny.  “Miss Ameline Duchaine.”</p><p>“Hmm,” said Allaire.  “There is no place here for the unqualified.”  She was approaching sixty, to Ginny’s eyes.  She was amply built - In fact Allaire’s personal upholstery reminded her of Professor Slughorn.  She was glaring at Ginny, unimpressed.</p><p>“I want to teach,” lied Ginny.  “But I…”</p><p>“Need experience.  Yes, I understand that, but why disturb us here?”</p><p>“You did demand help, Crespine,” said the new headmaster. </p><p>In the light of the headmaster’s office, Raduard de Metz looked even more wasted now than in the dark outside the cage.  He wasn’t able to sit upright in his wheelchair, but slumped against the back and side.  One twisted hand held his wand; His other hand seemed entirely withered.  His legs sprawled uselessly, although Ginny remembered seeing him standing, briefly, outside the cage.  His face was badly damaged, making it hard for him to speak.  His eyes alone seemed alive.</p><p>“<em>Help?”</em> expostulated Allaire.  “I expected a qualified teacher!  Not <em>this</em>.”</p><p>De Metz brightened.  “Well, if she is of no use to you,” he said, “We will not trouble Miss Duchaine any further.”</p><p>Ginny was wishing that someone else had been there to argue her case for her, but Apolline insisted that Ginny arrive with no obvious links to the Ministry, and apply via an independent teaching agency, admittedly one quietly allied to the Ministry.</p><p>“I was told you need a fluent English speaker,” Ginny tried.</p><p>“And you are that?” asked Madame Allaire, unimpressed.</p><p>“Second language,” lied Ginny again.  “My mother is English.”</p><p>“Hmm,” said Allaire.</p><p>“Red hair,” said Madame Pummeroy, the deputy head.  “Is that where yours comes from?”</p><p>“N-yes…”</p><p>“Pretty colour,” said Madame Pummeroy.</p><p>“I don’t need an untrained assistant,” repeated Madame Allaire.  It wasn’t simple obstinacy, Ginny thought.  There seemed to be alarm there, too.  What was she afraid of?</p><p>Although Ginny was afraid of taking the next step that Apolline had urged.</p><p>“I have a particular interest in drama,” she stated, as firmly as she could.  <em>Well, I can spell the word</em>, she said, only to herself.</p><p>“Truly?”  This was Madame Pummeroy.  “That would be helpful.”</p><p>Madame Allaire’s response was only a lifting of her eyebrows.</p><p><em>Madame Allaire is tired of teaching drama</em>, Apolline had said.  <em>She prefers more sedentary subjects.  And she has said, publicly, that she is bored of French drama, and wishes to try an English play.  But she is finding that embarrassingly hard.</em></p><p>“Particularly English drama,” lied Ginny.  “I love… Shakespeare,” she made herself say.  <em>Well, it’s a nice word, I suppose.</em></p><p>A small gleam appeared in Allaire’s eyes.  “Really?” she asked, her shrewd eyes on Ginny.</p><p>“Well, yes…”</p><p>A small, tight nod.  “Come,” said Allaire.</p><p> </p><p>Madame Allaire led her from the room.  De Metz was still slumped in his wheelchair as they left, his expression unreadable.</p><p><em>What have I just volunteered for?</em> Ginny asked herself in trepidation.</p><p>“Are you a scholar of Shakespeare?” Allaire asked.  They seemed to be walking down a corridor made of glass.</p><p>Ginny would have preferred to answer that honestly, but... </p><p>“I have some expertise,” she tried.  Ginny had spent the previous day frantically trying to read Shakespeare’s principal plays, and had tried - and failed - to learn four pages of quotes and sonnets.  It was like being back Professor Binn’s History of Magic class…</p><p>She was being led into a classroom.  There were a dozen or more students there, of both sexes, many of them taller than her.  Their faces were a blur.  Allaire was saying something – introducing her, explaining, but her words were merely noise.  Ginny fingered her black case, which contained all her hastily-scribbled notes and her slithering play scripts. </p><p>“<em>Drama</em>?” she had echoed to Apolline when the idea was mentioned.  “Shouldn’t they be learning Potions…?  And…?”</p><p>“We believe in a full education,” explained Apolline.  “Breadth.”</p><p>“I don’t know anything about drama…”</p><p>“Read the plays, and these notes, but don’t take them with you.  Write your own notes.  Then just use your memory, and, well, your imagination…”</p><p>“You mean, make it all up?” Ginny had asked in exasperation.</p><p>Allaire had left now, and there were just staring faces.  Ginny made herself break eye contact and turned around, ostensibly to study the rest of the room.  There was a large blackboard along the wall behind her, only it wasn’t black, but white, and there wasn’t any chalk.  “IULIUS CAESAR” proclaimed the board, in ragged blue capitals.  She realised that there were little white cylinders along the bottom of the board, with different coloured tops.  With a surge in intuition she seized a blue-topped cylinder, then struggled for a nightmare of seconds until she realised the top pulled off.</p><p>She changed the I to a J, and turned to her new class.</p><p>“In Britain,” she croaked, then cleared her throat.  “In Britain, they say Julius Caesar.”</p><p>She could see them nodding, and quills coming out, and notes being taken.  A surge of confidence, of chutzpah, filled her suddenly.  “So,” she said, channelling Madam Hooch, she later decided.  “So…  Who can tell me who are the main heroes of this play?  And the enemies?”</p><p>Hands were in the air, and somebody was talking, several somebodies, and it was easy to point at one of the keen-looking ones, and, she even had the time to rack her brains for what little she remembered of her notes on Julius Caesar while airily correcting their pronunciation of names she hadn’t encountered until yesterday.</p><p>By the second half of the double lesson, she had groups of them on their feet, reading scenes.  “Now,” she said, sounding almost middle-aged, “Who hasn’t read anything yet?”</p><p>A small, dark-skinned, timid-looking girl nervously put up her hand.   Another boy and girl gave themselves away by turning around to see who else hadn’t volunteered, and she was shooing them bossily to their feet.  Then, to her momentary pleasure, she spotted a curly-haired boy near the back, hiding behind his clasped hands, his elbows on the table, so only his eyes were visible.  She strode over to him.</p><p>“Come,” she said, imperiously.  “Stand…”</p><p>He stood, and kept standing, upwards.  He was tall, not very broad, yet muscled.  His face…  Suddenly there were voices in her memory.</p><p>“<em>Come on Alfo</em>!”</p><p>“<em>What have you got to lose?”</em>  A laugh, echoed.</p><p>
  <em>“It’s time you were a proper man!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Clothes off!”  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Off!  Off!  Off!”</em>
</p><p>Instead of the neat classroom, she was seeing a poorly-lit barn.  A small cluster of standing figures, some partly undressed.  <em>She </em>was entirely undressed, helping him remove his clothes.</p><p>Suddenly she was back in the classroom, staring at Alfo.  “Have you not read anything yet?” she asked him, too loudly.</p><p>The boy shook his head, his expression of horrified recognition removing any doubt.</p><p>“And what is your name?”  A final bid for freedom, of denial…</p><p>“Alfonse,” said Alfo.</p><p>“Well, I’m sure you’ll be very good.  You can read… You can read…”</p><p>Her mind was a blank.  She couldn’t even remember the name of the play, as she looked up at him.  He was very tall, wasn’t he?</p><p>She remembered now pushing him to the floor, hurriedly, while the whoops and cheers echoed around her.</p><p>She screwed her eyes shut, opened them once more in the classroom and peered at the script.  “You can be Antony,” she managed.  She waved vaguely at one of the others.  “You’re Caesar this time…”</p><p>She found herself staring up at Alfo.  Alfonse.  And he was staring at her, equally paralysed.</p><p>“See! Antony, that… revels long o' nights,” said a voice behind her.  “Is not… not… notwith… standing up. Good morrow, Antony.”</p><p>She remembered straddling him…</p><p>Silence.  “Go on,” she said, over her shoulder.</p><p>“It’s Antony, now, miss,” said the voice.  “Alfonse?”</p><p>Alfonse twitched mightily.  His eyes dropped from hers, scanned the pages in panic. </p><p>“So to most noble,” prompted another voice.</p><p>She remembered lowering herself onto him…</p><p> “So to most noble Caesar,” mumbled Alfonse.</p><p>“Bid them prepare within,” said the other voice. </p><p>She’d been already entirely ready, of course.  The huge relief at finding he was too…</p><p>The words of the play were washing around her.  She had no idea if they were the right ones, or the right pronunciation…</p><p>Different words now…  <em>“Is that it…?”  “Technically now he’s no longer a virgin…”  “Technically, yes…”  “No, he has to come…”  </em></p><p>
  <em>Was he coming yet?</em>
</p><p>“Next scene, miss?” said a voice.</p><p>“What?  Yes, of course.”</p><p>“Who should read Art… Artemi…?”</p><p>“Artemidorus,” put in a different voice.</p><p>“Let’s have a volunteer,” said Ginny, recklessly.  Her eyes were still locked on Alfo’s, and his look of panic was the same expression as at the barn.  She’d felt panic then too.</p><p>“Treb… Trebonius mark well Metellus Simber…”  <em>Was that right?</em></p><p>Pushing his hands to the floor, trapping them under hers…</p><p><em>“It’s just a trick,” </em>somebody had said<em>.  “Trompe l’oeil…”</em></p><p>“… Loves thee not…”</p><p>Looking up, meeting the eyes of a worryingly large group of onlookers, fully-dressed, half-dressed and undressed…</p><p>“If thou… beast not immortal, look about you…”</p><p><em>Beast</em>?  The classroom around her remained dark, the scene from the barn claiming her… </p><p>“Here will I stand till Caesar pass along…”</p><p><em>Hurry up, Caesar.</em>  What had she been <em>thinking</em>?  Dozens of eyes on her…  Although her arousal was mounting…</p><p>“I would have had thee there, and here again…”</p><p>The boy coming at last, so she could yell out in triumph and then flop against him…</p><p>“That’s so good…  You’re amazing…  So well done…  That’s enough…”  Except this was her own voice, in the classroom once more, her eyes clearing, the boy, fully dressed now, staring at her in fright.</p><p>Other voices, behind her.  “But we haven’t finished the scene…”  “There’s ten more minutes…”</p><p>Waving them away, in urgent dismissal.  “Next time… See you next lesson… Well done…”</p><p>The students standing, unsure, but going at last, except for one unmoving figure, but she was unable to look at him.</p><p>His voice: “Can I talk to you?”</p><p>Turning away.  “You need to go…”</p><p>“You won’t say anything…”  His tone pleading, unhappy….</p><p>The ridiculousness, the injustice of that!  Turning on him.  “<em>I</em> won’t say anything?  Of course I won’t!”  Storming up to him.  “What would I say?” she hissed.  “That I took your virginity?   In public?  Look, just… <em>forget</em> about it, OK?  Forget it!”</p><p>“When I am dead, possibly…”</p><p>“You have to leave now,” she said in anger and panic.   “<em>I</em> have to leave…  This is impossible, trying to teach you after that…”</p><p>A shamefaced grin from Alfonse.  “You already taught me lots,” he said, able to look at her now.</p><p>“I’ll talk to Madame Allaire,” said Ginny, her head whirling.  “See if she can change things…”</p><p>But of course she couldn’t.  This was the senior drama class, and currently her only planned work.  Madame looked affronted and disconcerted, and disappointed, at the request, and Ginny had no choice but to blether about a misunderstanding, and say of course she would continue to coach Julius Caesar.  To the advanced year.  Of course she would…</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Assistant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Deputy Head – Madame Pummeroy – caught Ginny’s eye as she turned away from Madame Allaire.</p><p>“So you are staying with us,” she said.  “For some time, I understand!  I have asked one of our premiere year students to show you around the school.”</p><p>She led Ginny out of the staffroom, where a girl was waiting.  She wasn’t much younger than Ginny.  Her fine dark hair was in her eyes, giving her a dreamy look.</p><p>“This is Adelais de Thomassin,” said Madame Pummeroy.  “And this is Miss Duchaine, who will be joining us for a while as an Assistant.  Ask Adelais anything you like, Ameline.”</p><p>Adelais gazed wide-eyed at Ginny as Madame Pummeroy returned to the staffroom.  “So what would you like to see?” she asked.</p><p>“Well… Everything,” said Ginny.  “If that’s OK.”</p><p>Adelais nodded.  “Then we should start here,” she said, leading Ginny outside.  They were in a wide stone-paved square, surrounded by long ranges of buildings on all sides, with archways on two sides.   “This is the Quadrangle.  It’s very old,” she said. </p><p>“Are <em>all</em> the buildings glass here?” Ginny asked, gazing around her.  It had been a shock when she first arrived to see the school buildings gleaming brightly in the sunlight.</p><p>“No, no,” said Adelais.  “Not all.  The family houses, where we all sleep, they are stone.  But the school buildings on this side of the lake, yes, they are entirely glass.”</p><p>“No secrets, then,” Ginny said, without thought.</p><p>Adelais shrugged.  “Not here, no.  But don’t worry.  Although the toilets here are glass, you cannot see through them.”  She was leading Ginny through one of the two archways, out onto a wide lawn.  To their left was a lake, narrower than the Hogwarts one.  The water was blue and clear, not the grey-brown of the Hogwarts lake.  “You can see the <em>Choc</em> pitches, yes?  There are five of them.”</p><p>Ginny could make out the row of orange diamonds spaced along the lake.  Overlooking the lake, on the far side, were a pair of gaudily painted buildings.  “Those are the pavilions,” said Adelais, “Where we watch <em>Choc</em> matches.  And can you see the buildings beyond?”  Behind the pavilions were small densely packed houses climbing up the far side of the valley.  “Those are where we live, in our families.”</p><p>“Your <em>families</em>?”</p><p>“We call them families,” said Adelais.  “And they are just as important to us as our real families.  Each family is about sixteen of us, with two from each year, normally.  When a sixth year starts at Beauxbatons, they go into a family, and they are given parents, who are normally the year above them.  And when they have been at the school a year, and they become fifth year, they are given two children from the new sixth year, and they teach them everything about the school.”</p><p>“Wait,” said Ginny, in confusion.  “Your years are <em>backwards</em>?”</p><p>“No…”</p><p>“But you start in the <em>sixth</em> year, and then go to the <em>fifth </em>year?”</p><p>“Yes, of course.”</p><p>“What happens after that?” asked Ginny, baffled.</p><p>“Well, fourth, third, second, premier, then final, then advanced.  So I am in the advanced year.”</p><p>Ginny worried about this, uncomfortably.  <em>Plenty of room for error</em>, she thought.</p><p>“And don’t you have houses?” Ginny asked, mystified.</p><p>“Of course,” said Adelais, confused in her turn.  “Each family lives in a house.”</p><p> “Yes, but…  No, OK,” Ginny said hastily.  “So what are those glass columns?”  The columns were in front of another tall transparent building.</p><p>“That is the Portico,” said Adelais, walking towards it.  “To keep us dry when it rains.  And the building behind is the Dining Chamber.  That is new.  It was only opened two years ago.  Before that, the old building had many windows that let through the wind, and the rain.  Brrr!”</p><p>Adelais led her into the Dining Chamber.  It was a large, square, airy building, entirely of glass except for the far wall, which was peach-coloured bare rock. A narrow waterfall poured down the rock into a pool, from where a stream emerged and meandered across the floor along a rock channel, crossed by little bridges here and there. </p><p>“The old building had long tables and benches,” said Adelais.  “They were horrible!  These circular tables are much nicer, so you can eat with your family, or with your friends.  And the teachers sit with us,” she added.  “I think it is good for them, and us, but some teachers do not like it.  And in the rock at the back live our house-elves, but you cannot see them unless you go and look for them.”</p><p>She was leading Ginny out of the Dining Chamber, and turning right.  “Here is our new classroom block,” she said, pointing.  “For the new subjects.  Humanities, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures.”</p><p>“I’ve already been there,” Ginny said.  “To teach drama.”  The new classroom building was a tall U-shaped glass building with walkways – also glass – that giddily connected the arms of the U.  “So what does Humanities mean?” she asked.  Wasn’t Madame Allaire head of Humanities?</p><p>Adelais’s head turned towards Ginny in surprise.  “The non-magical subjects,” she said.  “English, History, Art. And Music and Drama.”</p><p>“And do you have to do all of those?”</p><p>Adelais shook her head.  “When you are new, yes, but then you choose two,” she said.  “I like Art, and I do History as well.”</p><p>“Magical History?”</p><p>Another shake of Adelais’s head.  “No, no, <em>French</em> History.  Even for all the Spaniards and Greeks and Algerians here.  The Ministry insists, you see.  We are studying Napoleon at the moment.  Did you not go to school?”</p><p>“In England,” said Ginny.</p><p>“Ah.  ‘Ogwarts.  Well, here is better, they say.  We have excellent teachers.  And in front of the new classrooms is our garden.  You must see that.”</p><p>The garden was a mass of flowers and shrubs that hummed with strange insects.  Ginny couldn’t help twitching when she spotted a Fourrurmi scampering through a flowerbed.   The little six-legged cats still unnerved her.</p><p>Adelais was gesturing in the opposite direction now, beyond the Quadrangle.  “And that is the old classroom building,” she said.  A squat glass fortress loomed above the quadrangle.  It had a tower at each corner, and was built on a massive scale.  “In the new classrooms, you can see everything,” she said.  “But in the old building, it is hard to see through the walls, even though they are glass.  They are so thick, you see.  And old, of course.”</p><p>This was where the more traditional magical subjects - Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, Defence, Magical History and the rest - were taught, Adelais explained.  “And beyond that are the greenhouses.  Can you see them?”</p><p>The gleaming, elegant edifices were entirely unlike the dusty, dirty buildings that Professor Sprout used.</p><p>Behind the school, the mountains reared unchecked.  “That is the Great Cliff,” said Adelais, pointing to the near-vertical wall of rock that towered above the school.  “Some people like to climb it, but I prefer not.  I think that is everything on this side.  Shall we see the family houses?  I can show you the house where you will be staying.”</p><p>Opposite the Quadrangle was a bridge that arched across the lake.  Unnervingly, that was of glass, too.  From the centre of the bridge the <em>Choc </em>diamonds were more clearly visible.</p><p>“This is the main bridge,” explained Adelais.  “If you look down there, can you see that bridge?  That crosses over the waterfall, where the lake becomes a stream once more.  It is a very old bridge, and made of stone.  And beyond that is the school entrance, where you must have started, and you can see the cable car station beyond that, yes?”  She turned to look over the other side of the bridge.  “Up there, you can just see the little bridge which crosses the stream, before it pours into the lake.”</p><p>Along each side of the lake were tree-lined walks through the lawns that formed the banks of the lake.</p><p><em>I could get to like this</em>, Ginny decided.</p><p>They walked past the pavilions, which towered above them, towards the family houses.  The mountains on this side sloped less than the near-vertical cliff above the school.  The slopes were covered in trees, except where three wide grass strips, reaching from top to bottom of the long mountain ridge, ended in shallower slopes. </p><p>The streets here were narrow, and cobbled, and rose steeply between the huddled stone houses.</p><p>“So does everybody live here, then?” Ginny asked.</p><p>“Yes,” said Adelais.  “Everybody, apart from the house-elves.  Some of the teachers, who have their own families, have separate houses.  And the headmaster lives here too… Just here…”</p><p>The headmaster’s house was imposing, and a similar size to the houses that held the families.</p><p>“And here is your house,” said Adelais.  They were on a street running parallel to the lake, near to the line of trees.  The house looked very similar to its neighbours; How was she going to find it again?  “Place your hand on the door,” instructed Adelais. </p><p>When Ginny did so, the door opened, and Adelais led her inside.  They were in a pleasant room full of sofas, and it looked like a small Gryffindor common room, but with a wooden floor.  A matching wooden staircase headed up directly from the room, and Adelais led her up this, and then a further staircase.  Ginny’s room was on the second floor, and again the door was primed with her handprint.  It was small – smaller than her head prefect’s room at Hogwarts - but had a window looking out onto trees, with a large desk in front of it.</p><p>“So,” said Adelais.  “I will leave you here.  If you have more questions, then your family I’m sure will answer them.  See you soon!”</p><p>Ginny sat on the bed when she’d gone, gazing around her room, and at the trees out the window. </p><p><em>It’s lovely</em>, she decided.  <em>But it’s impossible.  What do I know about drama?  And how can I teach someone after a one-night stand with him?</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>The impossible became the norm in time, of course.  She rationalised it as being the same as her own final year at Hogwarts, concealing her relationship with Draco, even though this relationship, with Alfonse, was going nowhere, and the guilt was all in the past.  It became possible to meet Alfonse’s eyes, almost normally, and occasionally give him a crooked smile, probably too much for the eagle-eyed surrounding her, but no-one said anything, no-one hinted, no glance stripped bare her secrets.  Alfonse didn’t presume, or become over-familiar.  And he didn’t blab, to her huge relief.</p><p> </p><p>The pupils were different, too.  Ginny hadn’t realised before how geeky most Hogwarts pupils were.  Here, even the youngest seemed immensely sophisticated and worldly-wise.  Few were like Alfo.  Alphonse.  (There had been a quickening of interest in some eyes when she’d accidently called him by his nickname, and she tried not to repeat that.)  Almost every girl above the second year wore makeup, it seemed, making her own face feel embarrassingly raw.  Few shared her pale and freckled skin here, or her red hair, and eyes turned to her wherever she went, particularly those of the young men of Alfo’s year. </p><p>Many of the pupils weren’t French, she discovered – there was a large and handsome variety of other races.  She was grateful for the calming effect of her new wand, although sometimes the effect wasn’t strong enough for her piece of mind in the presence of some of the more good-looking males, even without Alphonse in the room.</p><p>Discipline was quite different from her prefect days.  She found she needed to treat all pupils as adults, and behave in a sober, adult way at all times, and keep her fiery nature in check, despite endless provocation:  There were plenty of cheeky young toerags who enjoyed answering back, and her earlier annoyed attempts at quelling disagreements had ended in shouting matches.   </p><p>The fortunate exception to quelling her true nature was <em>Choc</em>, which the school played on the icy waters of the lake despite the cooling weather.  They gave her a whistle and a lightweight swimsuit with the school crest on it – a sparking wand, of course – so she could coach them, and she had to resist the strong temptation to <em>Choc</em> them all.  Instead she restricted herself to weaving quickly between them and screaming in their ears at any sloppy play, and only occasionally allowed herself to <em>Choc</em> the larger players, to demonstrate some technique, and release her energies and frustrations.</p><p>There were no housemasters or housemistresses, of course.  Or house prefects.  Discipline for the school fell on the shoulders of the school monitors, a group of advanced - final - year pupils who always seemed more like confident and sensible young adults than schoolchildren.  She wasn’t particularly surprised to learn, for example, that the cowed and immature Alfo wasn’t a monitor, although he was a senior parent in his school family, of course.</p><p><em>Choc</em> was played entirely differently to Quidditch.  Instead of cheering on four house teams, virtually everybody here was expected to play <em>Choc.</em>  When a new pupil arrived at the school, and they were put into a family house, they were allocated to one of the two younger <em>Choc</em> teams for that family.  They would start as mouse, and as they grew older they would graduate to rabbit, then cat and finally wolf, playing Baby <em>Choc</em>.  Those that didn’t care for <em>Choc</em> were allowed to stop playing as they grew older, but the others would move to a new, older team, where they played Conference <em>Choc, </em>with its slightly different rules, and once more graduated from Mouse to Wolf. </p><p>So there were many teams – about forty junior, and twenty senior, and each team played against many others, the points they gained in each match adding to their season total, with a cup as the prize at the end of the season. <em>Choc </em>was as much as a topic of conversation as Quidditch ever was, and <em>Choc </em>training and matches dominated the timetable three afternoons a week.</p><p>Ginny’s new wand was a delight, and her alloying annoyance that she had few chances to use it.  She often regretted that Apolline had not sent her here as a DADA teacher, or even Charms, but all she could legitimately use were tidying-up spells, turning on and off lights, and dull little spells like that.  She took to spending spare hours in the library, looking up interesting spells she could try, on the valid justification that she needed to improve her written – or rather read – French, which was certainly still poor - She had to make sure she always delegated reading of French plays to the students.  She would fill her room with flowers, mainly because her new wand was particularly good at <em>Orchideous</em>, while looking guiltily over her shoulder whenever she used <em>Confringo</em> on any bloom that was starting to pass its best.</p><p>The other teachers accepted her, fortunately.  Her temporary status helped there, of course.  They could feel superior to her, and she was no real threat to them and their individual kingdoms.  She found herself identifying some of them with her own teachers in the past.  It was too easy to become over-familiar with Madame Desprez, the Transfiguration teacher, who was remarkably like Professor McGonagall in appearance as well as expertise, although she lacked the latter’s short fuse and prickly nature.  Madame Desprez was an ex-<em>Choc</em> player who liked to reminisce about <em>Choc</em> heroes of the past - none of whom Ginny knew – and moan about the current <em>Choc</em> Conference players.  That was more difficult for Ginny, of course, but she kept silent until she could repeat back Madame Desprez’s wisdom on the subject, which kept the Transfiguration teacher happy.</p><p>Monsieur Lesassier, who taught Defence Against the Dark Arts (although it was simply called Defence here) wasn’t as tiny as Professor Flitwick, but in truth he wasn’t much taller than Ginny.  His touchy pride was formidable, however, and any slight on himself, his beloved country or Beauxbatons Academy, however jocular, would spark his rage, and he would be almost spitting in anger.  Most punishments, it appeared, were given out by him, often on the most extreme of pretexts.  Ginny was herself awarded a detention one lunchtime, for tactlessly reminding him that Beauxbatons hadn’t won the latest Triwizard tournament, although he later came to her to apologise, poker-faced, citing ill-behaviour from too many pupils as his excuse, and Ginny had to keep own her face straight as she reassured him that Beauxbatons still led the world on the tournament, and everything else.</p><p>Some teachers still resented her, mainly because she was young and they were not, and invariably female, and her titular boss, Madame Allaire, led the field.  Whenever Ginny visited the staff common room, Madame Allaire would be there, mostly snoozing on her favourite sofa.  If she was awake, she expected Ginny to spring up continually at her beck and call, and perform endless petty errands.  She also liked to make spiteful remarks about Ginny’s unruly hair – her own unmoving hairstyle would have resisted a hurricane, buttressed as it was by pins and spells – untidy dress and general idleness.</p><p>This last particularly annoyed Ginny:  Unless Madame Allaire was prepared to release more of her workload to her, there was little she could do apart from drama and <em>Choc.</em>  Out of boredom, Ginny began volunteering for pastoral work – supervising younger student homework, babysitting the Wizard Chess club meetings, although fortunately her expertise was rarely sought – and broomstick coaching, although there was no Quidditch here, of course.</p><p>There was no equivalent to Hagrid, either – and no trace of Madame Maxime, and no-one seemed to want to talk about her, for some reason.  Her name appeared on the board of past heads, but there was no portrait of her in the Senate Room, where the other past headmasters and headmistresses watched over the more formal events at Beauxbatons. </p><p>It was easy at first to be distracted when teaching in rooms made of glass, by figures passing in the corridors, or the weather outside, which seemed much nearer than it ever had at Hogwarts. </p><p>Shortly after she arrived, a heavy rainstorm and a driving wind caused the rain to fall continuously down the smooth wall of the new classroom block, in a thick layer of flowing water.  It felt as if the whole building was rising smoothly upwards.</p><p>“It is like magic without magic,” said an awed new pupil, as he stared at the descending curtain of rain, entirely disregarding the drama lesson Ginny was trying to teach his class.</p><p>Ginny rarely saw her fellow Humanities teachers, apart from Madame Allaire.  By looking at the timetable pinned up in the staffroom, she could see they were called Madame Heroux, Madame Mazet and Madame Auvray, but she only caught sight of them through the glass classroom walls, or occasionally in the corridors, or coming into or out of the staff toilet in the new classroom block, eyes averted in embarrassment.  They seemed to know her – they would mutter “Good morning, Miss Duchaine” as they passed, but wouldn’t be drawn into longer conversation.  They didn’t come into the staffroom, or even the Dining Chamber.  She would have preferred their company to that of the older teachers, but when she mentioned this to Madame Allaire, as politely as she could manage, the latter merely brushed her off, almost physically.  “They are busy people,” she said.  “Don’t disturb them.”</p><p>She moaned about this to Odson, one of the younger staff members, a plump young man who taught Potions.  He merely shrugged.  “They’re part-time,” he said, simply.  “You won’t see much of them.”  Which didn’t seem to be entirely true, as each of them seemed to be teaching all day and every day, according to the timetable.  For Ginny this added to the mystery and strangeness of Beauxbatons School. </p><p>She used a school owl to report to Apolline on a weekly basis.  Apolline insisted she used code for this, and taught her a spell that caused her scrawl to wriggle from illegibility into incomprehensibility, but it was hard to find anything useful to report.  Nobody tried to attack Raduard de Metz.  Or anybody else, for that matter.  Everyone around her seemed very normal and dull when she looked at them closely, even though the sensation of strangeness persisted.</p><p>Ginny grew quite excited when she discovered that Monsieur Lesassier had a group of disciples amongst the pupils, but when she talked to two of them, at length, she discovered that the only shared interest of the group was magical creatures, and that she had merely stumbled upon a group of mini-Hagrids who could only talk about Flobberworms.</p><p>Apolline kindly offered to forward letters to Ginny’s parents, via Fleur, but the constraint that she couldn’t tell them where she was, or even what she was doing, and the knowledge that Apolline was reading her words – and probably Fleur and Bill were too -  reduced them to near-incomprehensibility as well. </p><p>She did get occasional letters from her mother in return.  (Not from any of the males in her family, but she would have been amazed if she had.)  But Mrs Weasley’s letters were stiff and uninformative, and often peevish that her daughter wasn’t seeing fit to tell her parents where she was hiding, and with whom. </p><p><em>We’re all hoping you’re enjoying Poland</em>, her mother fished in one letter.  <em>I understand Harry is very busy right now, so we trust you’re not making a nuisance of yourself.</em></p><p><em>Thanks, Mum</em>, Ginny thought in annoyance.  In her reply she tried to say that she <em>wasn’t</em> in Poland, and to say Hi to Harry if <em>they</em> happened to catch up with him, but Apolline decreed this was too much information.  Ginny, seething, had to rewrite the letter without having her say.</p><p><em>Your father spoke to Mr Dawlish yesterday</em>, her mother wrote in a different letter.  <em>He says that you would probably receive a very light sentence, and recommends you return as soon as possible and throw yourself on the mercy of the Auror’s Office.  Surely even a brief prison sentence would be better than being separated from your family for all this time?</em></p><p>Ginny didn’t even bother replying to that one.</p><p>But she missed her parents, and her brothers, and her owl Pablo, and even Arnold, her Pygmy Puff, who was never the most exciting of companions, exactly. </p><p>Apolline didn’t want Ginny writing to Harry or Hermione, either, and even fended off enquiries about the whereabouts and wellbeing of Draco and Lavender. </p><p><em>Mr Malfoy and Miss Brown are both well</em>, Apolline wrote every time Ginny asked.  <em>But regrettably they are both busy and unavailable for chats.</em></p><p>“Don’t want me making a nuisance of myself with them either?” Ginny snarled out loud when Apolline put this in a letter, but managed not to write and send her thoughts on the subject.</p><p>Not that Ginny particularly wanted to chat to Lavender, and most imagined conversations with Draco rapidly degenerated into argument.  But some familiar company would have helped her in her new surroundings.</p><p>Eventually she was reduced to lighting a fire in her little room and use Floo Powder to talk to Apolline, so she could moan about her frustrations in person.</p><p>“Madame Allaire won’t hand over any more work,” she complained.  “However hard I argue.  It’s crazy.  The other Humanities teachers won’t even talk to me, so I can’t ask them for more to do.  And I’m never even allowed to touch any homework!  What’s that about?”</p><p>“Control,” said Apolline, simply.  “And pay.”</p><p>“But Allaire just sits in the staffroom the whole time!”  Ginny’s knees were already sore, kneeling like this.</p><p>“I thought you would have worked that out by now,” said Apolline, dryly.</p><p>“What?  Worked out what…?”</p><p>“Raduard has warned her, but Allaire defies him all the same.  And the Aurors.”</p><p>“The Aurors?  Defies them how?”</p><p>“Isn’t it obvious?” Apolline asked with a twitch of her lips.</p><p>“Is this amusing you?” Ginny shot back grumpily.</p><p>Apolline sighed theatrically and held up her fiery hands in surrender.  “I hoped you would see it for yourself.  Madame Allaire must own an unregistered Time Shifter.”</p><p>“Time Shifter?” Ginny echoed in bemusement.  “You mean a Time Turner?  They were destroyed!  We wrecked the whole room…”</p><p>Apolline’s next sigh was an extra roar from the fire.  “It is hard for me to comprehend how blind you British are to every country but your own.  The <em>British</em> ones may have all been destroyed.  Possibly.  Personally, I doubt it.  Why should your Ministry own all of your country’s devices?  And building new ones is complex, but not impossible.  But your careless actions fortunately did <em>not</em> reach the Time Shifters of this country, or any other country.  Our Aurors also flatter themselves they control all this country’s Time Shifters, but I doubt that as well.  Madame Allaire is a case in point.”</p><p>“You could have said,” said Ginny, crossly, pushing her hands under her shins to relieve her knees.</p><p>“It is supposed to be secret, and you are not French.”</p><p>“So those other teachers… the ones I only see…”</p><p>“Are Madame Allaire, looking like someone else.  Are we clear now?”</p><p>Ginny was still steaming with annoyance afterwards, so she went for a swift walk in the woods above the dormitories, even though her toes were soon aching with cold.  As a result, she wasn’t as attentive as she should have been, and when she stomped past a dormitory house doorway, she surprised a small figure, who made a small sound of alarm and turned hurriedly away.</p><p>“Hello?” said Ginny, surprised.  Instinct made her reach out, grab a shoulder and spin the figure around.</p><p>It was a small secondary year girl – a fifth-year, to Ginny – one she barely knew, although her face vaguely reminded her of someone at Hogwarts.  The girl wouldn’t meet her eye, but huddled herself in her school cape.</p><p>“Are you all right?” Ginny asked.</p><p>The girl nodded.  “Can I go?” she asked.</p><p>“I suppose so,” said Ginny, uncertainly.  The girl hurried away and disappeared into the gloom. </p><p>Something struck Ginny as strange:  This house, where the girl had emerged from, wasn’t a standard house, but reserved for final-year students.  What was a young girl doing there?  Some kind of assignation?  Was the girl being taking advantage of?  <em>Maybe I still think too much about sex</em>, Ginny told herself.  <em>Probably a perfectly normal explanation.</em>  And by the time she’d reached her own room she had entirely forgotten the encounter.</p><p>The next time she encountered Madame Allaire in the staffroom, Ginny examined the Humanities teacher more closely, and with the benefit of her new knowledge she could see that Allaire looked haggard, her eyes strained and uncertain.  <em>She’s overdoing it</em>, Ginny decided with satisfaction.  How many times was she living each hour?  She realised then that at least Allaire had the sense to spend one of each hour in the staffroom, collapsed in the most comfortable chair, and Ginny was more charitably prepared to help her with her chores.</p><p>It was only a few weeks later that Madame Allaire’s hectic way of life suddenly changed.  She was discovered one afternoon in a heap at the bottom of a set of glass stairs in the new classroom building. </p><p>“Those steps are a death-trap,” said Madame Desprez.  “I must have told her a dozen times not to wear those heels!”</p><p>Madame Allaire was deeply unconscious, and was taken to the Infirmary at the orders of Madame Pummeroy, the Deputy Head, where the Infirmarian pronounced little chance of a rapid recovery. </p><p>The immediate consequence of this was that fully a third of the lessons in the school had no teacher.</p><p>The Deputy Head called a series of teachers into her room that evening, and they emerged looking hunted and angry. </p><p>“Unsupportable,” said Monsieur Lesassier.  “Why should I be expected to watch pupils daubing paint onto paper?  Do I look like a parent?”</p><p>“Certainly not,” said Monsieur Odson, who had already been to see Madame Pummeroy.  “You turned her down, of course?”</p><p>Lesassier merely snorted in reply.  “So did I,” said Odson.  “She expected me to teach <em>history</em>!  Cavemen and <em>Romans</em>!  Absurd!  We must be solid on this one.  We are professionals, not babysitters!”</p><p>The succession of teachers being called to the Deputy Head’s study continued.  From the comments or grunts and tuts as they returned it was clear that they had all declined to take on any of Madame Allaire’s workload.</p><p>Ginny wasn’t called, to her intense disappointment, and her amusement at the attitude of the rest of the staff turned to annoyance.  Eventually she stomped out of the staffroom, marched along to Madame Pummeroy’s room and rapped on the door.  There was a muffled response, and she took that as invitation.  The Deputy Head was standing at her window, staring out at the whitened mountains.  She looked briefly over her shoulder, but returned her angry gaze to the window.</p><p>“Prima donnas,” she said, under her breath.  “Idle, self-regarding peacocks…”</p><p>“Madame Pummeroy,” asked Ginny, politely, “Can I make a suggestion?”</p><p> </p><p>When Ginny returned to the staffroom, Odson caught her eye in annoyance. </p><p>“Have any of Allaire’s <em>blessings</em> descended on you, Ameline?” he asked, sarcastically. </p><p>“Yes,” said Ginny. </p><p>“<em>What</em>?” said Odson, loudly.  “Have you not listened to everything said here?  We must stand together on this one!”</p><p>“Which ones?” asked Madame Desprez, suspiciously.</p><p>“All of them,” said Ginny.</p><p>“<em>All</em>?” exclaimed Lesassier in amazement.  “Impossible!”</p><p>“No,” said Ginny.  “Just a lot of hours.”</p><p>“What do you know about history?” demanded Odson.</p><p>“Very little,” she admitted.  “But I’ll have to learn, I suppose.”</p><p>She left them then, still fulminating against their Deputy Headmistress, and walked outside, and only then did she open her fist, and examine the little brass hourglass nestling there, on its little keyring, with the tiny silver key attached to it.</p><p>It was Madame Allaire’s Time Shifter.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Endurance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was like a relay race, Ginny decided, except that at the end of each leg, the only person to pass the baton onto was herself.</p><p>She’d never seen Hermione’s Time Turner, or had time to inspect the ones she’d helped wreck, but she could have sworn that Harry had told her that Hermione merely had to turn hers to get it to work.  Madame Allaire’s Time Shifter was quite different, and needed an incantation, and Madame Pummeroy was insistent she needed to be able to work the device silently.</p><p>“There are plenty of Ministry staff among the parents,” she had said as she handed it over.  “I do not wish this to become known to them.”</p><p>The Time Shifter would send her back an hour – and only an hour - although she could use it multiple times in each hour.  The magic number appeared to be six:  Any incantations after that left her in exactly the same place and time.   Whether this was a law of deep magic or to avoid wear and tear on the user she couldn’t determine.  And making sure she wasn’t observed as she disappeared at one point and reappeared an hour earlier was tricky and too easy to get wrong at first, but she kept her earlier attempts within the walls of the staffroom, and the other teachers were grumpily tolerant of this, particularly when she reminded them of the alternative.</p><p>Her first evening had been a nightmare:  Having mastered operating the Time Shifter, she had gone over Madame Allaire’s frightening timetable, and then burrowed through the woman’s notes - endless scrolls in her idiosyncratic handwriting - where her predecessor reminded herself of what she was teaching each group.  A feeling of panic would grip Ginny as she reached the end of each six-hour period, and she had to decide where she could hide herself for the next one, and what paperwork she needed to take with her, as she tried to understand the mosaic of Allaire’s bewildering life.  And then a seemingly endless night, where she read through every piece of homework, puzzling out what was right and wrong, to work out where each class had got to. </p><p>She was dropping with exhaustion by the time she had made any kind of sense of the mammoth task she had so blithely volunteered for, so she awarded herself a full six hours in bed, where she alternated between deep sleep and adrenaline-filled awaking, convinced she had slept through her first day’s lessons.  By the end of that six hours she felt barely better, but she had no choice then but to sit down to the unpalatable task of reading all she had to teach in only a few hours.  She found herself skimping towards the end – she simply couldn’t face a further six-hour imprisonment – and went down to breakfast wondering whether Madame Allaire had ever felt as underprepared as she did.</p><p>She only realised as she was finishing breakfast - which tasted as stale as she felt - that she had entirely forgotten about disguising herself as the relevant Humanities teachers.  She needed Madame Allaire’s hidden stash of Polyjuice Potion, and she had no idea where it was.  It had to be in the new classroom block, so abandoning the remains of her breakfast she hurried over there.</p><p><em>This must be what the silver key is for,</em> she realised, pulling it out of her pocket.  <em>But where’s the door?</em></p><p><em>I should ask one of the staff</em>, she told herself.  <em>But maybe they don’t know.  </em>She was hurrying past the staff toilet when she realised.  She stopped dead, turned around and pushed open the door into the toilets.  She tried blinking, to clear her vision.  <em>What haven’t I seen?</em>  The little row of handbasins, with a mirror above each.  The row of doors, the one on the end permanently out of commission.  The little table, with its vase of flowers.  The walls here were glass, as usual, but it wasn’t possible - for some physical or magical reason - to see in or out. </p><p>She growled at herself in annoyance, stepped over to the permanently-locked door and held the key out to it.  Before she’d even touched the key to the door, the door was swinging open, and she was entering, instead of a little cubicle, a much bigger room.  In front of her were four large casks, and on either side of each of them was a clothes rack containing dozens of familiar-looking garments.  A little bag hung from each clothes rack.</p><p>The casks were labelled:  ENGLISH, HISTORY, MUSIC, DRAMA.  A little glass cup on a loop hung from the tap on each cask. </p><p><em>What am I doing first?</em> she had to ask herself then.  Then:  <em>Yes </em>–<em> let’s</em> <em>get the worst over first, </em>she decided.  She stepped up to the HISTORY cask, unhooked and filled the little glass there with Polyjuice Potion from the cask, then drank.  There was a mirror on the wall next to her, and she turned to look at herself, heart beating.  The feeling was unpleasant, and she could see her features blurring, distorting.  But then she was shooting upwards, with a squawk.  Her feet were suddenly agony, and she kicked them off in a hurry.   She watched as her face and form became those of Madame Heroux, a tall and slender brunette, showing plenty of stomach and leg now, as Ginny’s clothes no longer fitted her.  Ginny hurried out of her own clothes and hung them on a couple of empty hangers.  <em>Which are Madame Heroux’s clothes?</em>  She realised the clothes to the right of the HISTORY cask were the ones she needed, and she hurriedly grabbed some at random and put them on, and then slid into the shoes underneath the rack.  She nearly left her notes behind, and had to turn back to pick them up, and then she was hurrying out of the toilets, meeting Madame Auvray, the statuesque blonde English teacher – no, herself, of course – as she did so, both of them averting their eyes as usual.</p><p><em>This must be working, </em>she told herself in elation as she hurried along to the History room.  She couldn’t decide then whether the uncertain feeling in her stomach was nerves or simply the result of the five or six croissants she’d just stuffed down, with jam.  She tried to read her notes, and in her hurry and agitation they were unreadable.  There was an uncomfortable silence in the classroom while she tried to puzzle them out, but then she put them down on her desk with a shaking hand.  She would have to find something else to do.</p><p>“So,” she said eventually.  “Charlemagne,” looking around at the raised eyebrows.  “What can you tell me about him?”</p><p>The pupils looked at her in puzzlement.</p><p>A girl asked, “What’s wrong with your voice, Madame?”</p><p>A boy, doodling on his notepad, didn’t bother to look up, and said: “You’ve forgotten your throat pills again, Madame.”</p><p><em>Pills?</em>  “Ah,” Ginny managed.  “I’m sure you’re right.  Thank you.  Now, Charlemagne?”</p><p>Actually, it wasn’t a bad lesson, she told herself afterwards.  She had fallen back on her drama experience to get them all riding their desks around the room – one of McGonagall’s spells that she remembered – as they re-fought the battle of Tours, and if it was excessively noisy no-one had the nerve to come and tell her so.</p><p>Then she had to hurry back to the staff toilets, into the Polyjuice room, travel back an hour and choose another class.  She decided on a fourth-year music lesson as she removed her Madame Heroux clothes.</p><p>The Polyjuice converted her into Madame Mazet, a pretty part-Asian girl with lively eyes, not much taller than Ginny.  <em>They’re all good-looking, aren’t they?</em> she realised.  <em>Apart from me.  Is that Allaire’s ego?  Or does she just like beauty?</em></p><p><em>Pills…</em>  She investigated the little bag hanging from Madame Mazet’s clothes rack, and found her intuition was correct:  Inside was a little bottle of pills.  Shrugging, she took one, as she changed into Mazet’s clothes.  “My name is Madame Mazet,” she said, and her voice was entirely different to her own.  <em>I sound like a duck,</em> she decided, as she shoved her feet into the music teacher’s shoes.</p><p>She paused then, and looked with eyes afresh at the casks of Polyjuice Potion.  Madame Mazet: Music.  Madame Heroux:  History.   Madame Auvray:  Anglais.  English, in other words.  Simple alliteration.  <em>Why didn’t I notice that before?</em></p><p>She headed for the music room and launched into the lesson.  That was nearly a total disaster, but she recovered by deciding to teach them a pair of Weird Sisters songs, which they slowly warmed to, and she was rescued by discovering that one of the pupils was an accomplished pianist.  She had to break school rules by Summoning a copy of the songbook from the compendious school library and plonking it in front of her new accompanist.</p><p>Then she had to use the Time Shifter to become Miss Auvray, the busty blonde, and tackle a first-year English class, who managed to humiliate her with questions about grammar, but she had her revenge by telling them to write an essay on subjunctive clauses.  That meant a batch of marking loomed, but she was starting to fade by then, and then she remembered that she hadn’t set any homework for the history class…</p><p>She was looking forward to lunch now, but she wasn’t even half-way through the morning yet.  She bolted back to the staffroom and stuffed down some almond biscuits, and then she was almost ready for her next lesson – second year art…</p><p>Only then did she realise that there was no ART cask in the Polyjuice room.  She panicked briefly until she realised that Miss Allaire must teach something as herself.  She turned to the mirror to watch her hair slowly turn red, her features become her own, and - with strange regret – watch her chest shrink to its normal size.</p><p>By the end of the first day’s lessons she was punch-drunk with exhaustion, starving and dying of thirst.  She’d forgotten Madame Mazet’s throat pill for an afternoon lesson, but nobody commented this time. </p><p>She made her way unsteadily to the dining room, collapsed at an empty table, and devoured a plateful of food.  She couldn’t afterwards remember what she’d eaten.</p><p>Monsieur Odson dropped into the chair next to her.  “So,” he said, “perhaps not an easy day?”</p><p>She grunted something.</p><p>“Did you learn many new names?” he asked next.  “New horizons…”</p><p>Ginny flogged her mind to think of a single pupil’s name from the day, but her mind was a blank.</p><p>“Well, you can relax now,” he said, comfortingly.  “That is, as soon as you have completed your marking…”  He stood and left, having spoilt the rest of her day.</p><p><em>By the next time I see Gosse</em>, she told herself that evening, with several stacks of homework still to mark, <em>I’m going to be a lot older than him…</em></p><p>When she at last climbed into bed, she discovered that she had already beaten herself there, which presumably meant she’d been so tired she’d decided on a second six hours.  Fortunately the bed was just wide enough for this – she recalled mournfully her bed at home, easily wide enough for two – and after all she was only sharing with herself. </p><p>It was a surreal experience all the same.  She had of course glimpsed herself throughout the day, and out of a strange feeling of embarrassment she’d avoided her own glance, and hadn’t spoken to herself either.  <em>Well, that would be really weird</em>, she told herself.  Her other self was already asleep, but despite her own tiredness she was too wound up.</p><p>Her other self snored, she discovered with annoyance and horror.  She put up with it as long as she could, but eventually gave her a light shove.  That only gave a few seconds respite.  Irritated and emboldened she gave herself a firmer shove, and her other self turned over, away from her.  The snoring stopped.</p><p>She decided to imitate her and turned on her side, and it seemed natural then to snuggle up to her other self, who muttered something but didn’t object.  Her other self wasn’t wearing a nightdress either.  She put an arm around her, and lulled by the warmth – and the company, strangely – she fell asleep.</p><p>When she awoke, her other self was already gone.  To breakfast, presumably.  The thought made her hungry, but there was no way she could appear twice for breakfast.  She’d have to wait.</p><p>Here was her other self again…  She could hear her alter ego undress and climb into bed behind her. </p><p>She listened to the even breathing of her other self, and soon her companion was asleep.  And snoring, which worried her – Hadn’t the first Ginny snored?  Were things changing from her last experience? </p><p>Despite her lingering tiredness, she slept fitfully, more conscious of her other self now, and she cursed herself repeatedly.  At last it was time to get up and go down to breakfast, feeling totally famished.</p><p>For the entire second day she felt totally spent, and she was walking around - and teaching - in a daze.  She was horrified when a secondary-year student complained to Madame Pummeroy, in her hearing, that Miss Duchaine – Ginny as herself, in other words - had missed a second-period drama lesson.  One advantage of a Time Shifter, she told herself gloomily, was that she could simply go back and fix any problem.  After taking the missed lesson she headed to her room for a doze in the free hours that followed, and although she was again sharing with her earlier self for an hour of that, she felt better afterwards.  And by the time she reappeared in the dining room, the complaining secondary-year student had forgotten what he was saying to Madame Pummeroy.</p><p>She found an alarm spell in <em>Spells for Modern Life</em> that would cause her wand to ping each hour and remind her what each hour contained, although it couldn’t cope with multiple passes through the same hour, of course.  Her less sophisticated solution here was to keep tying knots in her handkerchief, so that at each end of each lesson she only had to count the knots, and compare the total with the number of items recited by her wand.</p><p> It settled down, in time, and turned from almost impossible to merely gruelling.  She disciplined herself to add no more than twelve hours to each day, and to sleep at least two of those.  She learned to sleep on any occasion, at any time, and in any position.</p><p>She learned that she was addressed differently now:  Previously, as an Assistant, she had been Miss – Mademoiselle – Duchaine, but now, as a fully-fledged teacher, she became <em>Madame</em> Duchaine.  As well as Madame Mazet, Madame Heroux and Madame Auvray, of course.</p><p>She quickly grew to know the entire pupil population because she encountered every student several times a week, and sometimes several times a day.  In time she grew popular as well, although one of the reasons for that didn’t please either her or the rest of the staff.</p><p>She had been in the premiere year – sixth-year, to Ginny, still – art class, showing them the arrangement of twigs and pine cones she had collected together for them to paint.  Several sets of eyes shot upwards, unimpressed, and her temper began to fray.</p><p>“Look,” she said.  “Last time I brought a bird for you to draw, and you moaned that was too difficult!”  She’d been proud of that; A Golden Pheasant that she’d disturbed on one of her walks.</p><p>“It wouldn’t stay still,” groused Dominic.  Dominic was thin, dark and broodingly handsome, and she had to make herself avoid looking at him.</p><p>“So I Stunned it!” Ginny snapped.</p><p> “Then it wouldn’t stand up,” pointed out Lydia, acidly.  She was Greek, an intense, curly-haired brunette.</p><p>“Why can’t we do life modelling?” suggested Eloise – blonde, broad and amiable.  “My brother does that at his school.”</p><p>“What’s life modelling?” asked Adelais, who always seemed younger than the rest.</p><p>“No clothes on,” said Eloise.  “The model, I mean.”  Adelais’s eyes widened.</p><p>“A wandless school,” said Pierre, dismissively.  “Who cares?”</p><p>“Anyway, we don’t have a model,” said Ginny.</p><p>“So no life modelling, then,” said Lydia, angrily.  “Wonderful.”</p><p>“Well, draw each other then,” said Ginny, crossly, trying to cut through the arguments.</p><p>They stared at her in amazement.</p><p>“Be painted with no clothes on?” said Lydia.  “No!”</p><p>“OK, leave your clothes on, then,” said Ginny in exasperation.  “And paint the twigs.”</p><p>“We should learn life modelling!” said Eloise.  “We are being held back!”</p><p> “Have you ever life modelled, Miss?” asked Pierre, hopefully.</p><p>“No!” said Ginny quickly, but she wasn’t a good liar, and her face was suddenly hot.</p><p>“You <em>have</em>?” breathed Adelais.  “That’s amazing…”</p><p>“Was he a great artist?” asked Eloise, hopefully, before Ginny could frame an answer.  “Will we have heard of him?”</p><p>“Are you exhibited somewhere?” asked Pierre.  “Can we go and see?”</p><p>“You should model for us!” said Adelais.</p><p>“Then we could be proper artists!” put in Dominic.</p><p>“I’m not taking my clothes off!” said Ginny.  “Draw the twigs and stop behaving like children!”</p><p>The entire class was sour and sulky for the rest of the lesson, but Ginny told herself they would get over it.  The next lesson she tried to divert the argument and teach the class History of Art, but they were unimpressed, and under their cold and pitiless questioning it soon became apparent that she knew nothing more than the handful of facts she was trying to teach them.</p><p>“I can’t be a model and a teacher,” she said at the end of that lesson, defensively.  “How am I supposed to teach you like that?”  But their faces remained moody and annoyed, like spoiled children.</p><p>The next lesson she appeared in a long dressing gown, and it was as if the whole class was holding its breath.  They behaved impeccably, patiently and silently drawing the chair she had put out for them.  And as a reward, she then walked up to the chair, her back to them, slipped off the dressing gown, and sat.  She was as naked as they’d hoped, although her limbs were wrapped around her, so nothing was on view.  The class was silent with concentration then, and when she came to inspect the result, she was impressed to see that everyone had tried their hardest.  And really she wasn’t showing anything.  They were fierce critics then, of their own work and each other’s, and they pestered her to let them try again. </p><p>She was hugely undecided then.  Apart from anything else, it was bloody uncomfortable to sit like that for the time needed.  But she was swayed by both their pleading eyes and the quality of work of some of them.  Looking back at the previous work of Eloise, Pierre and Adelais in particular showed how they’d improved out of all recognition. </p><p>So she let them try again, and as they grew bolder, so did she.  Within limits, she told herself.  Still, it was a shock to realise, when she noticed a line of eyes staring at her through the wall, that a glass-walled classroom, however obscure the glass, was not really a suitable life-modelling studio.  But when she stood to shoo them away, her class raised such a fuss that she had no choice but to sit down again and endure the stares until her pupils had finished.  And the result of their work was so satisfying, as was their confidence and skill when drawing other subjects - even piles of twigs – she decided that it was all worthwhile.</p><p>She made sure the sketches and paintings of her remained in the classroom at the end of each lesson, and used a spell to lock the room when she left.  And it was <em>Alohamora</em>-proof, a tricky spell she’d learned from Professor Stonelake, in her Hogwarts days, designed to keep people out.  So where was the harm, really?</p><p> </p><p>The Beauxbatons Dining Chamber was a habitually noisy place, louder than its Hogwarts equivalent, something Ginny had grown entirely used to by now.  So when she walked into the Chamber one morning for breakfast, her head full of the endless forthcoming lessons of the day, she was surprised that the noise was louder than usual, but then quickly diminished to near silence.  Then she realised they were all staring at her. </p><p>It was a windup, she told herself.  Beauxbatons students were known for their love of mocking each other, and the staff too on occasion.  She looked around at them, challengingly, and held out her hands in a broad shrug, before sitting down at a table with several teachers.  To her surprise, there was a cheer, and handclaps, an unusual sound in Beauxbatons.</p><p>“What’s got into them?” she asked Denis Odson.  She wouldn’t exactly class him as a friend even now, but there was a mutual acceptance between them, a casual exchange of views and sarcasms.</p><p>“They’re not easy to impress,” said Odson.  “But you have managed.”</p><p>She turned to him in puzzlement.  “Managed how?”  Had someone at last done the maths on how many hours a week she was putting into this school?  <em>Well, they should be impressed</em>, she said to herself.</p><p>“I would like to provide you some healthy competition,” Denis replied.  “But I doubt that would be approved of.”</p><p>“What are you talking about?” she asked in bemusement.</p><p>“Ah,” he merely said, looking at her speculatively.  “Perhaps you should visit the Senate Room.  I trust you like surprises.”</p><p>Ginny made herself finish her breakfast before she went to look.  Quite possibly Odson was winding her up as well - It wouldn’t be the first time.  The high-ceilinged Senate Room occupied the entire length of the first floor along the front of the Quadrangle, overlooking the lake.  It was immediately above the staff room, but she had rarely been there.  Even so, she was surprised to find that instead of its usual funereal calm there was a lively crowd at the far end of the room.  Unsuspecting, she joined the crowd and tried to peer over the top of the heads, but as was usual she was shorter than many of the pupils and could see nothing.  She pushed her way into the crowd, intrigued now.  The voices seemed to quieten as she did so.  She was nearly at the front when she saw Dominic, the aspiring artist.  He looked horrified to see her, and hurried away, squeezing through the mob, and she started to have an inkling what all the fuss was about. </p><p>She pushed her way through the rest of the crowd, and they parted like the Red Sea.  Then she could see what they were staring at. </p><p>Somebody had taken down one of the portraits of a former Headmistress – Julia, Comtesse d’Airelle (1672 – 1688), she later discovered – and replaced it with a more contemporary painting.  It shouldn’t have been any surprise by now to discover that she was the subject of the portrait. </p><p>She recognised it, of course.  She was sitting on the floor, arms pushed backwards to support her, legs raised to figleaf herself, her gaze fixed, off to the right of the painting.  Entirely naked, of course.  She’d been thinking about Gosse while her students painted her.  And Undine. </p><p>She recognised the artist, too:  Adelais, whose draftsmanship outstripped the rest of her class, even though her representation of colour was surpassed by Pierre.  Still, it was an impressive work of art.</p><p>As she watched, her painted self yawned and stretched.  To Ginny’s horror, there was now a definite orange fuzz visible between her legs.  Her breasts were undeniably on view, of course.</p><p>Her head was whirling.  If she tried to pull it from the wall, assuming it wasn’t put there with a permanent sticking charm, they’d all laugh, or she would find herself in a scuffle with some humourist determined not to let her take it.  If she just turned and walked out, they’d still laugh.  If she Stunned the lot of them, she’d almost certainly get kicked out.  A brave face and a witty remark would be good, but she couldn’t think of one.  Instead, she raised her hands in triumph and pushed her way through the crowd.  They were still laughing, but it was entertainment, not derision.</p><p>Although she doubted the Headmaster would be amused.</p><p>
  <em>Why couldn’t it have been Madame Auvray, or Madame Heroux, or Madame Mazet taking art? Why does it have to be MY tits on display?  And everything else?</em>
</p><p>She’d been right not to try and remove the painting:  The perpetrator <em>had</em> stuck the portrait permanently to the wall.  Benard, the school caretaker, had laboured mightily to jemmy it off the wall anyway, while an irrepressible crowd had cheered and cat-called.  Then he’d tried to cover it, and whether it was devilment or circumstance, the cloth kept slipping off.  Benard had to take the extreme step of locking the Senate Room, which raised endless complaints from all the legitimate users of the chamber, including the Senate, of course, those elevated individuals who advised the Headmaster.  So the room was unlocked once more and its contents exposed to view.</p><p>And no, de Metz was not impressed.  Nor was Madame Pummeroy, of course, who lectured her endlessly.</p><p>“If you had consulted, you would have discovered that such exhibition is not permitted!” she told Ginny.  “There is a social distance between staff and pupil that is part of the fabric of this school, and you have destroyed that!  Have you punished the perpetrator?”</p><p>Ginny had not, because she hadn’t managed to identify the culprit.  Adelais had sworn on her life, tearfully, that she had not hung her painting anywhere, that she had been convinced it had been locked safely in the classroom, and Ginny fully believed her.  She gave the rest of the art class an inquisition on the subject, but they had all denied any knowledge of the prank, and from their hurt and sympathetic expressions she was inclined to believe them too.  No, this had to have been someone from another class, probably someone who had observed the life class in progress, who had managed to circumvent the lock spell.  She knew it could be done, after all, because only last year she’d unlocked the spell herself.  But the culprit remained unknown, and unsuspected, despite the inevitable cachet that unmasking would have brought.</p><p>The repercussions were felt for some weeks.  She had to fend off improper remarks from numerous older students, and even from a pair of male teachers who should have known better.  Some pupils, mostly boys, were merely overfamiliar, while others of both sexes looked upon her in horror: Ginny was apparently the danger their Mummies had warned them about.  The final year art class were particularly annoyed that such a benefit was not being made available to them, and squabbles broke out between the two years over parity, and its absence.</p><p>Alfo passed her in an empty corridor one day, and said blandly that it was nice to see her again.  He grinned hugely at the terrible glare she gave him.</p><p>She had acquired a new name, she learned:  Around the school – and in the staffroom, to her particular annoyance – she was now referred to as <em>La Nue.</em>  The Nude.  As the pupils never used it to her face, she couldn’t tell them off for calling her that, but she did snarl at Denis Odson when he tried.</p><p> </p><p>Distressingly, she found she was starting to dream, something she’d rarely suffered from in the past.  She’d taken it on trust that her wand would drain off any excess sexuality that her enforced abstinence might cause, but her dreams seemed to centre around sex all the same.  At first the dreams were unfocussed, but they grew increasingly and repetitively about the sexual act.  To her discomfort her partner in this activity became clearer over time, and resolved to become a girl.   </p><p>At first, the girl’s face was shrouded, unrecognisable.  And why always a girl?  <em>Am I preferring girls over men now?</em></p><p>But over time the girl’s face became clearer, more certain, until one night she recognised her, clearly and unmistakably, as a pupil at Beauxbatons, called Cadence Demoulin.</p><p>Cadence was one of the second year pupils, so about sixteen, Ginny guessed.  Why was <em>she</em> appearing in Ginny’s dreams?  Why not one of the older pupils?  Alfo, for instance? Strangely, she realised slowly, she rarely saw Cadence in real life.  She should have been in several of Ginny’s Humanities classes, but no longer attended any of them, and her contemporaries would merely shrug when she asked where Cadence was.  In more normal circumstances, Ginny would have made enquiries about why the girl was missing her lessons, but she had too much to do, and she was constantly stretched and tired.  And beyond that, the idea that, in talking about it with someone, she would give away her thoughts, that they would divine what and who she was dreaming about, made it impossible.</p><p>She could remember seeing Cadence occasionally in the corridors, but the girl always seemed to be in a hurry, and avoided eye contact and conversation.  (Although what could Ginny possibly have asked her?  Even the thought made Ginny cringe.)</p><p>What did it mean?  She wasn’t aware of any attraction towards the girl, although she was undoubtedly good looking.  Why this one particular girl?</p><p>Was this a side-effect of the Time Shifter?  Maybe she should stop using it.  But how?</p><p>Ginny was severely disturbed by all this, particularly when she came to realise that she was solely in the man’s rôle in the coupling.  Cadence would be beneath her, mostly, while Ginny’s hips were between her legs. </p><p>There was no-one Ginny could talk to about this, and she felt horribly alone, dreading falling asleep because the dream would return, yet unable to stay awake in her exhaustion.</p><p>She spent Time Shifter-won hours in the library, and found some spells that allegedly could prevent dreams entirely, but even when she was brave enough to try them – her written French wasn’t great, her medieval written French even worse - the dreams continued. </p><p>Finally, as the term drew to a close, the dreams became a nightmare: This time Cadence wanted something different, and was leaning across something in front of a large mirror, her eyes fixed on Ginny in the glass, full of arousal, as Ginny rode her, endlessly.  But now Ginny could see herself, her own body, her hands on the girl.</p><p>Only it was no longer her body:  She no longer merely made love like a man, she <em>was</em> a man - thin, white-skinned, tall - and at last she caught sight of her own face, and her terror was indescribable. </p><p>Because her face in the mirror was the young Voldemort’s: The seventeen-year-old Tom Riddle, the face and form that had emerged from the diary all those years ago, and that face was leering at her in the mirror, and then contorting with pleasure, as he, as Ginny, came within a triumphant young girl. </p><p>She awoke, on her own in her room, terrified, unable even to scream, her heart racing, her skin pooled with sweat, and it was an age before she could pull herself back from sobbing panic.</p><p>Would she never escape Tom Riddle?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Joan of Arc</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a relief to spend her Christmas holidays at the Holombec’s.  Beatrix had sent her an owl a week before the holidays started, cordially inviting her on behalf of Gosse, Undine and herself, which had cheered her up considerably. </p><p>All the same, when Ginny Apparated to their front door, she felt a huge uncertainty.  Now that she had her wand once more, would they really want to see her?  Weren’t they just thrill-seekers, putting themselves in the way of a witch desperate for the lack of her wand?  Her heart was thudding at the thought of seeing Gosse again, and she couldn’t decide on her feelings for Undine, or Undine’s for her.</p><p>When the door opened, it felt like going back in time.  Gosse opened the door, called over his shoulder that it was Ginny, and stepped back to allow her inside.  His eyes were as casual as when they’d first met, although it seemed that evaluating look was still there.  He didn’t embrace her, but led her through into the sitting room.  Beatrix came hurrying in, glass heels singing as before, and made up for Gosse, by noisily hugging her and kissing her.  Undine was there too, but again didn’t come forward, and Ginny had to step towards her, feeling impelled to at least give her a tentative kiss on the cheek.  But Undine was smiling then, as only Undine could, and, emboldened, Ginny turned to Gosse and pecked him on the cheek as well.  Then Gosse hugged her back, squeezing her, kissing her, then releasing her, and she had to laugh and recover her breath, and poise. </p><p>It was hard then to sit, and avoid the glances of either of them, but Beatrix as usual dominated the conversation, demanding to know about her experiences at Beauxbatons.  Somehow she found herself relating how she’d posed for her students, causing both Beatrix and Undine to squeal and cover their faces, and then the story of the painting in the Senate Room, which had them all exclaiming in shock and laughter.  She kept Alfo from them, of course, and her Time Shifter, and her nightmares, but there was plenty to say, plenty to entertain them with, as they ate Beatrix’s dinner, and then Beatrix was recounting endless tales of unreasonable - and even dangerous - customers and strange wands.</p><p>It felt strangely normal afterwards to kiss Beatrix and Undine good night, and accompany Gosse to his room, and undress there, and be praised, in words and gestures, and undress him, and then make love in Gosse’s huge bed, and sleep, his arms around her, so the poisons of the term leached out of her, and she slept better than she had for weeks.</p><p> </p><p>“Will you model for me?” Gosse was asking in the morning, before she had even opened her eyes.</p><p>“Of course,” she’d replied, simply, squinting at him in the sunlight of the room.  “What as?  A virgin again?”</p><p>“Perhaps,” he said.  “But a different virgin.  I would like to see you as Joan of Arc.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“A figure from France’s past.  She spearheaded the resistance of the French against the English occupiers.  They caught her and burned her to death.”</p><p>She looked at him uncertainly.  “Are you going to set fire to me?” she asked.</p><p>He shook his head.  “Certainly not.  But there is a fighter in you, isn’t there?  I would like to paint that.”</p><p>“Paint how?”</p><p>He was excited then, the usual near-silent Gosse gone, the wordy, imaginative, enthusiastic artist in his place.  He brought his dressing gown over – the one she’d borrowed last time – helped her into it, then took her hand and led her to his studio, talking the whole way.  She felt huge emotion when she saw the circular room once more.  <em>So much has happened here.</em></p><p>“I am already ready for you,” Gosse said as he closed the door behind her.</p><p><em>And I for you</em>, she thought to him silently.  But she wouldn’t disturb him like that until he was ready… </p><p>Beyond a large object in the centre of the room was a painting support, with an empty canvas resting on it, but this canvas was huge.</p><p>“Have I put on weight?” she asked, in amused puzzlement.</p><p>But the Gosse sense of humour was the same – earnest and unlaughing about so important a subject as art.  “No!  No!” he said.  “You are mounted!”</p><p>“Mounted?” she asked in confusion.  “Mounted on what?”  Was Gosse’s erotic imagination outstripping hers?</p><p>“On a horse!”</p><p>She looked around:  There was no horse in view. </p><p>“Here,” said Gosse, leading her across the room by her elbow.  The object in the centre was long and barrel-shaped.  “You sit on this!” he said, intently.</p><p>“That’s not a horse,” she pointed out.</p><p>“You’re not Joan of Arc,” said Gosse with rare yet serious humour.  “But I can paint you - with this - to become so.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Get on it,” he said.</p><p>The top of the barrel was at her eye height.  “Are you going to help me?”</p><p>“Yes,” he said.  She assumed he was going to fetch his wand, but instead he leaned against the barrel and clasped his hands together.  “Stand your foot here,” he said.  “Then climb on.”</p><p>Amused, she obeyed.  The dressing gown made it difficult, and being so close to him more so, but she managed to scramble up.  “Sit astride?” she asked.</p><p>“Yes,” he said, tensely, frowning up at her.  She pushed her legs apart and down the sides. </p><p>“Bit of a stretch,” she said.</p><p>“The robe,” he said next.</p><p>Sighing for effect, she undid the dressing gown cord and slid the gown off her shoulders, squirmed it free and dropped it to the floor.  “I feel very exposed up here,” she said, only half-joking.</p><p>There was a thin rope looped over the barrel, which he twitchily passed to her.  “In one hand,” she said.  “No, not like that…”  He made her make a loop in the rope and hold it in her left hand.  <em>Is riding a horse really like this?</em> she wondered.  <em>At least this one won’t throw me off.</em></p><p>“This,” he said next.  He was holding a metal something.  A helmet, she realised. </p><p>She reached down with her free hand and took it from him, then perched it on her head, awkwardly.  “No clothes and a helmet,” she said.  “Is that the look this year?”</p><p>“No,” he said, totally seriously.  Somehow he was climbing up behind her, and sitting astride, as she was. </p><p>“This is more like it,” she said, playfully.  Which was a waste of breath.  He lifted the helmet from her head, ran his fingers through her hair, then carefully placed the helmet once more. </p><p>“Look at me,” he said.  She twisted her head to look over her shoulder at him, and his hands came out and re-seated the helmet.  “No,” he said.  “Can you gather up your hair?  It should be under the helmet, I think.” </p><p>She obeyed, making a quick bun, and holding it while he lowered the helmet once more.  Then she had to remain still while he teased free a ringlet of hair so that it fell down one cheek.</p><p>“Good,” he said then.  He kissed her briefly on the shoulder, giving her goosebumps, then slid and jumped from the barrel.  Then he was looking up at her again, his eyes squinting.  Eventually he nodded, turned and passed something else to her:  A sword.  It was long and unwieldy, but not as heavy as it appeared.</p><p>“Now,” he said.  “This part is not clear to me yet…  Hold the sword straight out in front of you…  Higher.  At shoulder height…  At eye height…  No… Bring it down, bend your elbow… Like that, yes!  The tip towards me… More…  Less than that.  Are you comfortable?”</p><p>“As comfortable as you’d expect, when I’m like this,” she said tartly.  “Do you do this to all your models?”</p><p>“No,” he said, seriously.  “You are different.  Models… Models are an expression of the artist.  His desires.  But you…  It is your desires that rule, here.”</p><p>“When did I say I wanted to sit up here, exactly?” she inquired.  “Starkers on a horse?”</p><p>He shook his head repeatedly.  “No!  Your desire for battle.  To fight.  To <em>vanquish</em>.  It is deep inside you.”</p><p>“If you say so,” she replied, but she was gratified all the same. </p><p>Now he was waving his hand at her.  “Not that expression,” he said.  He pointed to his own ear.  “Listen.  Listen to God, who speaks in your ears.  He is sending you to defeat his enemies.”</p><p>“I can’t imagine that,” she confessed.  Her arm was already hurting from the weight of the sword.</p><p>“I understand,” he said.  “Imagine the Hidden Duke has returned.  His evil is staining the world.  Behind you are an army of Aurors, but they are unsure…  Wait,” he said suddenly.  “You must have stirrups.”</p><p>“Stirrups?” she asked, blankly.</p><p>He was hurrying across the room, returning with another piece of rope, a thick cotton one.  She watched his hands in fascination as he doubled the rope and tried it against the side of the barrel.  He sliced the rope with his wand, and then he was fashioning loops in both ends.  “OK,” he said, tossing one end of the rope across the barrel, in front of her.</p><p>“What do I do with this?” she asked in bafflement.</p><p>“Your feet… Put your feet in each loop…”</p><p>She had to bring her knees up to do so. </p><p>“Good!  Now stand…”</p><p>“I’ll fall over…”</p><p>“Use the reins… The rope in your hand…  No!  Wait!”  He was in a fever now.  His wand was in his hand once more, and he was muttering a sticking charm, to hold the looped rope in place. </p><p>“Now, stand!”  She did her best to obey him, rising up from her seated position.  “More!” he demanded. </p><p>It felt hugely strange, but she was poised there now, her weight on her insteps in the rope loops, her left hand tight on the reins.  She moved the sword into a more natural position, then looked down at him. </p><p>He was looking up at her, his eyes wide, his mouth open.  “Yes,” he breathed.  “Can you stay there?  While I paint you?”</p><p>“For a while,” she said, unsure. </p><p>He was walking backwards, his eyes on her.  “Remember the Aurors behind you,” he said.  “Turn towards them.  Look over your shoulder…  Yes!  Point with your sword…  Yes!  That is right!”  Then his eyes were on the canvas, and the wand was drawing broad sweeps.</p><p>She felt strangely balanced now, reassured by his words, his expression.  <em>Although sitting down hadn’t been so bad,</em> she said to herself.  <em>Wasn’t there some queen who’d done that?  Naked on a horse?  But not standing up like this, showing absolutely everything…</em></p><p><em>Remember the Aurors,</em> she told herself.  Most Aurors she knew were dead, but somehow she could picture an army of them, behind her, <em>not</em> staring at her bottom, of course, but their worried eyes on the foe.  Voldemort, in front of her, alive once more, that snake-profile of his, surrounded by Death Eaters.    <em>Fenrir Greyback</em>, she said to herself.  She could see him now, in Voldemort’s shadow. <em>This is for you, Lavender.  I’m staying up here, until they’re all dead.</em>  Her bloodstream was on fire.  <em>What is Gosse doing to me?</em>  <em>This is arousal, near enough…</em>  She could feel the tension in her leg muscles, keeping her balanced, the tension riding up into her torso, her arms.  Her feet were hurting already from the ropes.  <em>Dark Lord</em>, she said to her long-dead foe.  <em>Tom Riddle, who thinks he can still haunt me.</em>  <em>I’m coming for you.</em></p><p>She wasn’t aware of anyone entering the room, but she could see Undine now, out of the corner of her eye.  The girl was staring up at her in amazement, stepping forwards, her eyes dark.</p><p>“Not much longer,” Gosse was saying. </p><p>But it was a timeless period later that he was stepping forward, reaching a hand up to Ginny, taking the sword from her.  Then he was encouraging her to swing her leg across the barrel, and slide down, into his arms.  Accepting the hugs they both gave her. </p><p>“I want to see,” Ginny said to Gosse, but he shook his head.  “I could not leave you up there,” he said, gently lifting the helmet from her head.  “I could see the strain in your body.  Let me imagine the rest, and then you can see.  I promise.  Undine, take her to rest, yes?”</p><p>There was a fond, amused smile on Undine’s face, and her light, cool hand was in Ginny’s, and she was urging her from the room. </p><p>They were in a bedroom now.  This must be Undine’s room.  Undine was kissing her, lightly then urgently, then pushing herself back with a laugh to let Ginny remove her clothing, that look of uncertain pride and pleasure in her lovely face once more.  Then leading her to the bed – smaller than Gosse’s, yet amply big enough for the two of them – kneeling, then sprawling elegantly backwards, holding her hand out to Ginny in invitation.</p><p>The feel of Undine’s lips on hers.  Of Undine’s legs wrapping lightly around her.  Their hands on each other…</p><p>There was uncertainty in Undine’s eyes now.  <em>Am I rushing her?</em> Ginny wondered, but couldn’t stop herself.  Undine’s eyes filled slowly with passion, and they were both seeking arousal together, and the pleasure was urgent and intense.</p><p> </p><p>“That was strange for me,” Undine admitted afterwards.  She was lying on top of Ginny, her head on Ginny’s chest, her fingers slowly stroking Ginny’s skin.  Ginny’s hands were still locked around her, as she felt the tension slowly leaving her body.</p><p>“Have you not been with a girl before?” Ginny asked.  She wanted to hug this beautiful girl for ever.  Undine didn’t answer, and Ginny felt guilty then.  “I hope I didn’t bully you into this,” she said, awkwardly.</p><p>“You did,” said Undine, lightly.  “But I don’t regret it.”</p><p>“Will you do it again?” That was a hard question to ask.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“Didn’t you like it?”</p><p>“It was different.”</p><p>Ginny stroked the girl’s soft hair, gingerly.  “I’d like to,” she said, hesitantly.</p><p>Undine lifted her head, and gave her that heart-stopping warm smile.  “Let me get used to the idea,” she said. </p><p>“I’m sorry if I was…” began Ginny.  <em>Too intense</em>, she didn’t want to say.  <em>Too violent.</em></p><p>Undine shook her head.  “You made love to me,” she said.  “Passionately.  I felt that so much.”  She pillowed her head on Ginny once more.  “I wonder if Gosse has finished yet,” she said then. </p><p>“Do you want me to go now?” Ginny asked, her heart sinking once more.</p><p>“No,” said Undine, thoughtfully.  “I’m just impatient to see the painting.  To see you like that, the way Gosse has imagined it.  With a horse, and not a box.  He is intense, like you.  He feels things so strongly, as you do.”</p><p>“I… feel strongly about you,” Ginny said, uncertainly. </p><p>“I know,” said Undine, contentedly.  “It is such pleasure to be admired by someone like you.  Powerful, with such passion.”</p><p>“You’ve been with men…” Ginny started, unsure.</p><p>“Yes,” said Undine. </p><p>“Did they treat you like I did?” Ginny asked.</p><p>“No.  It was… routine.  Just… stroking.  For their pleasure, I think.  I think men are different that way.  They see a girl, they want to take them to bed, and then it is done.”</p><p>“No…”</p><p>“Not for you, perhaps,” said Undine.  “I would like to meet a man, like you have, who is passionate about me.”</p><p>“Has Gosse…?”</p><p>“That’s a nosey question,” said Undine, firmly.  “Come, let’s go and see him.  He might have gone to sleep.”   She climbed off Ginny with decision, then bent down once more to kiss her, lightly.  “Aren’t you curious to see?”  She picked her clothes off the floor, daintily elegant, and dressed.  “Perhaps Gosse needs us to wake him.”</p><p>“Can you lend me a robe?” Ginny asked, sitting up, uncomfortably.  “I keep leaving clothes around the place.”</p><p>Undine shrugged, smiling.  “You don’t need clothes in this house,” she said.  “You are with friends.”  But she found a dressing gown for Ginny, then took her hand and pulled her out of the room, along the corridor and back to Gosse’s studio.</p><p>“Ginny!  Undine!”  Beatrix’s voice, calling them.  They paused outside Gosse’s door as Beatrix caught up with them.</p><p>“Please,” said Beatrix.  “Do not disturb him.  He is very intense at the moment.   He will not be happy now until he finishes the first stage.  I know you are keen to see him, Ginny, and I know how much he misses you.  But leave him today.  Just today.  Will you do that?”</p><p>Ginny nodded, glumly.  She freed her hand from Undine’s, but the girl reached out and took it back.  “Come,” she said.  “I will entertain you today.  Let’s have breakfast, and then we can go shopping.  I need some clothes.”</p><p>Ginny, mollified by this, admitted she needed to buy some clothes as well.  And she needed some Christmas presents for the Holombecs, she realised.  She was tiring of the clothes she had to wear every day at Beauxbatons, and some were already tiring of her: The constant quick changes seemed to age them unduly.  So she happily accompanied Undine, and bought some dresses, despite the guilty feeling that Florence wouldn’t be very pleased to know Ginny was buying clothes somewhere else.</p><p>She would have liked to have buy clothes for her other selves, but couldn’t see how to do that without the appropriate Polyjuice Potion, or with Undine there.   But just having more clothes for Madame Duchaine made her feel better.</p><p>They’d missed lunch, so they stayed out for dinner – Undine took her to a bistro where they could sit outside, in the chilled night air, warmed by the magical crowds around them and the food, and they chatted and gossiped, while Ginny drank in the beauty of the girl opposite her. </p><p>They walked back, hand in hand, and Ginny was allowed to kiss Undine in a quiet street, but only briefly, and then they were back at the Holombec house.  Beatrix was there, at her spilt-milk-shaped desk she used for organising her social life.  “Can we see Gosse now?” Ginny asked.</p><p>Beatrix turned, gave Ginny a narrowed expression tempered by a smile, and nodded.</p><p>Gosse was still intent on the huge painting. </p><p>“Can we see?” Undine asked.  “Is it ready?”</p><p>Gosse merely grunted.  Undine looked at Ginny, shrugged and pulled her forward.  He continued to ignore them, and Undine impelled her until they could turn and look at the painting as a whole.</p><p>They had to look through Gosse to see the painting – he was still working at something on one side of the huge image – and the background was mostly blank.  But his vision was there already, irresistibly capturing the eye.</p><p>Lines.  Sweeping, strong lines that betrayed the muscles beneath.  A horse, brought to life, huge, chestnut, muscular, sweating, white-bordered eye round in fear, head dragged back by the reins.  Joan of Arc, like a curved blade above the horse, legs taut, torso taut, the muscles in her arms evident, one hand bunched around the reins, the other wielding the sword.  Her face… Utterly Ginny’s face, yet another’s as well.  Not the pugnacious arousal of the girl from the harem.  No, a firmer, unyielding face, uncompromising.  A fighter, a victor. </p><p>Her body fascinated her.  The single firm, untroubled line of her flank.  The leaf shape of her body hair, fiery and womanly, yet displayed uncaringly to the onlooker, no flirtatious offering.  Her breasts the same: Functional and elegant, feminine, yet an irrelevancy to the conflict that consumed her. </p><p>Gosse’s hands were busy on the horse:  Apart from her plumed helmet, Joan of Arc was entirely naked, but he was dressing the horse in the panoply of war: An armoured headpiece.  A heavy and ornately gilded rug across the creature’s back.  A complex, heavy saddle, with large decorated stirrups that dwarfed her now-dainty feet.</p><p>“Incredible,” breathed Undine beside her.  Her hand was stroking Ginny’s back, but in admiration, not desire.  “Go with him now,” she urged Ginny.  “Show him he has created a miracle.  That you both have.”</p><p>Ginny felt a kiss on her shoulder blade, and sensed Undine leaving.  Ginny’s legs seemed to belong to someone else as she approached Gosse.  She put her hand on his shoulder, and then slid down his arm, and reached his wand hand.  He turned to look at her inquiringly, but then he was surrendering the wand to her, and she was tossing it to the ground, then pushing him to the floor, and she was making love to him, riding him fiercely and passionately, in front of his latest creation.</p><p> </p><p>Beatrix possessed more tact than Ginny would have expected:  Only when they had untangled from each other, and Ginny had shrugged herself back into Undine’s dressing gown, did she appear to quench her curiosity over Gosse’s new painting.  She was oddly silent, and seemed to ignore the pair of them, as she approached the painting, wide-eyed and fascinated.  Her eyes seemed to take in every detail. </p><p>“I need more time,” Gosse said, hoarsely.  But Beatrix gestured him to silence as she continued to stare.</p><p>Eventually, she turned away from the painting and reached out to Gosse, and hugged him, rocking him back and forth, her eyes screwed shut.  She opened them to look at Ginny over his shoulder.  “What have we brought into this house?” she asked then, smiling.</p><p>“I just stood there,” said Ginny.  “He’s amazing, isn’t he?”</p><p>“You have set him alight,” said Beatrix expansively.  “You must see his other recent works.  Even without being here, you have inspired him.”</p><p>“I’m sure I haven’t,” Ginny protested.</p><p>“She has drained me,” said Gosse, his face in Beatrix’s hair.  “I am an empty shell.”</p><p>“You must both eat,” said Beatrix.  “Come!”</p><p> </p><p>They spent the following day sightseeing.  Beatrix took them into Muggle Paris, dragging Gosse out with them, and showed Ginny the other Paris, so unlike the one she’d come to know.  They went to the top of the huge metal tower, her hand clenched around Gosse’s.  There was something unnatural and unnerving about being so high, in a man-made structure.  They walked for miles around the city, seeing everything, while Beatrix told them history, and geography.  They returned home, tired now, but Beatrix showed no flagging energy as she prepared another feast for them, and all four of them were talking, laughing, flirting.</p><p>Gosse stood, eventually, as Ginny hoped he would, crumpling the white napkin and dropping it on the table.  He looked over at her, but his eyes were strange.  “I need time,” he said.  “To finish the painting.  I hope you understand.”</p><p>She’d said yes, of course, despite her disappointment.  But then Beatrix was standing too, gesturing busily to Undine, who rolled her eyes, stood and said: “Come, Ginny.  It seems I must entertain you tonight.”</p><p>Ginny’s pulse was thudding in her ears as they walked along to Undine’s room, hand in hand.  Undine did not wave the lights on, and they stood in the gloom of the bedroom, arms around each other.  Eventually Undine lifted her head and kissed her, gently, then with increasing fervour.  Ginny returned the kisses with waning control. </p><p>Undine drew back from their kiss, then rested her head against Ginny’s.  Ginny could hear her uncertain breath.  She hesitated, then whispered: “Are you sure about this?” she asked.</p><p>Undine nodded, silently.</p><p> </p><p>Beatrix appeared in Undine’s bedroom the following morning.  “Happy Christmas!” she said.  “Come and see your painting!”</p><p>“Is it finished?” asked Ginny, vaguely, finding it hard to wake up.  Undine turned over and rubbed her eyes.</p><p>“I should complain,” said Beatrix.  “You have my son working every hour he isn’t asleep.  And he sleeps almost never, because of you!”</p><p>Ginny felt guilty and embarrassed in equal parts.  “Actually, I haven’t seen him since last night…”</p><p>Undine climbed out of bed, apparently unconcerned at being seen naked by Beatrix, crossed to a cupboard and extracted a wrapped present, which she gave to Ginny. </p><p>“Can I open it now?” asked Ginny, uncertainly. </p><p>“Of course,” said Undine.  “It is a useful present.”</p><p>It was a dressing gown, a beautiful one.  Ginny would have preferred one that covered her legs, but Undine had chosen an elegant silky one, with a capering horse on the back.  “For Joan of Arc,” she said.  “And so you don’t have to walk around this house naked.”</p><p>Ginny tried it on and looked at herself in the mirror.  It was green, and her hair looked spectacular against it.  She hurried to her pile of bags in the hallway and retrieved her present for Undine.  “It’s not wrapped…” she said, embarrassed.</p><p>It was a necklace, made of amber.  When Ginny had seen it in a shop window, it had reminded her of Undine’s eyes, and now she had money, for the first time in her life, it was a pleasure to spend it on her friend.  Her lover…  The necklace looked even better than expected, against Undine’s bare skin, beneath the girl’s dressing gown.  They kissed, warmly, but broke apart out of deference to Beatrix.</p><p>Ginny tentatively held out her present for Beatrix to her, but Beatrix shook her head.  “Later!” she said.  “We must rescue Gosse first!”  She led the way to Gosse’s studio. </p><p>The room was in its moonlight state, but Beatrix tutted and waved her wand.  The moon sank and the sun rose once more, this time high into the ceiling sky.  The huge painting on its frame dominated the room, and in front of it, in a wide pile of sheets, sprawled Gosse, asleep.  He awoke as they entered, and he was moving now, screwing his eyes up against the light, then opening them and peering at the invaders. </p><p>Beatrix stepped towards the painting, her eyes wide and avid.  “No! No!” said Gosse suddenly.  “Not daylight, for this painting!”  Ginny could see him reach for his wand, and the sun was sinking once more, disappearing below the visible horizon, returning the room to early dawn.  “Now you can look,” he said.  He was climbing to his feet.  He didn’t appear to be wearing anything. </p><p>“Don’t stare at me,” he said to Ginny.  “Look at what you have done.”  He gestured to the painting. </p><p>“What <em>I’ve </em>done?” she asked, in disbelief.  “I was just standing there!”</p><p>She turned towards the painting, regretfully – Gosse was worth any painting, in her opinion – but would then have found it difficult to turn back.</p><p>As she approached the canvas to stand next to Beatrix, she was suddenly conscious of sound all about her.  Voices - men’s voices, mainly; calling, shouting, yelling.  The sound of horses’ hooves. </p><p>Ginny’s figure was astride her horse as before, but behind her now was a dark stone wall, reaching high above her.  Above the crenelated top of the wall were dark clouds, broken by pale grey sky, the clouds moving slowly as she watched.  A flag on a standard behind the horse was stirred by the wind, sometimes flapping noisily.  Over the painted Ginny’s shoulder, a sputtering, flaming torch on a tall stand cast a flickering, yellow light.</p><p>And horse and rider were moving, too.  The horse - restless, disturbed - was fidgeting and occasionally whinnying, and Ginny could hear the scrapes of its hooves, the hollow impact as it placed a huge hoof on the cobbles, the snorts as it shook its magnificently apparelled head.  The jingling of its harness.</p><p>And the other Ginny was moving, effortlessly, naturally, her body easily accommodating the movements of the horse, her hips swaying and tilting to keep her upright in the stirrups.  Her torso was moving too, as she twisted around to look behind her, then forward again, to gaze at the invisible enemy.  But she was still defiantly naked.</p><p>Ginny found her own eyes were locked on her ever-moving body.  Such natural competence…  “But I can’t ride a horse,” she said, and felt stupid saying it.</p><p>“You did fall off, once,” said Gosse close behind her, giving her goosebumps on goosebumps she hadn’t realised she had.  “I didn’t think you knew such words,” he added.  “But you are competent now.  You learn fast.”</p><p>She turned to glare at him, briefly, and he pecked her lips.  She had to kiss him back, urgently.</p><p>“I think there is much we don’t know about Ginny,” said Beatrix, behind them. </p><p>Guiltily, Ginny took her hands from Gosse, and turned back politely to look at the painting.  Beatrix, entranced or tactful, was still gazing at Gosse’s work.  Ginny’s naked figure was still standing casually astride the twitching horse, the movements of both of them so natural, fluid and animal.  The painted Ginny locked eyes with her and grinned piratically.  She brought up and flourished her sword above her head, stretching upwards, as if on tiptoe.  But then her expression grew serious once more, the sword came down to her side, and she was gazing at her distant enemy, twisting again to examine her equally invisible supporters.</p><p>“It’s incredible,” Ginny said huskily.  “So beautiful…”  She felt guilty once more.  Was <em>beautiful</em> the right thing to say about herself, about a painting that spoke of life, and courage, and sacrifice, and death?</p><p>“It will look very well,” said Beatrix.</p><p>Ginny turned to her in puzzlement.  “<em>Will?  </em>You mean it’s not finished?” she asked.  She stared at the painting once more.  How could it be incomplete?</p><p>“No, no,” said Beatrix.  “It is ready, and will be going on display.”</p><p>Ginny could feel the ground dropping away rapidly beneath her.  “On <em>display</em>?” she asked in horror.  “Where?”</p><p>“Don’t worry,” soothed Gosse.  “It will look even better in the Army Museum.  The lighting there is perfect.”</p><p>“The Army…?  I don’t care about the <em>lighting</em>,” Ginny said in annoyance.  “It’s the lack of <em>clothes</em>!  Who’s going to see this painting?”</p><p>It was Beatrix’s turn to soothe.  “Only Magic People,” she said.  “There is a magical wing in the Museum, that only we can reach.  Muggles won’t be able to see it.”</p><p>“And I don’t care that effing <em>Muggles</em> won’t be able to bloody see it!” retorted Ginny, in a jumble of French and English.  “What about everyone else?”</p><p>Gosse looked stiff and unhappy now.  “But it is a work of art,” he said.  “It is not about the model!”</p><p>“How about…” began Ginny, impelled to invention.  “A scarf…”  She gestured down herself.  “Fabric…”</p><p>“No!” said Beatrix and Gosse, firmly.</p><p>“Well…  A mask on my helmet!  Yes!  Why not?”</p><p>“Why not?  Because the face is extremely important!” said Beatrix in shock.  “It shows bravery, and leadership, and huge determination!  Towards victory against the Hidden Duke!”</p><p>“Against who…?” asked Ginny in puzzlement.  “This is Joan of Arc, fighting the English!”</p><p>“The Hidden Duke was English,” put in Undine.  Ginny hadn’t realised she was in the room.  The girl’s hands were clasped in front of her face, gazing up intently at the painting.</p><p>“But so am I!” Ginny pointed out, crossly.  “I’m English!”</p><p>“But here you are French,” said Beatrix, gesturing towards the painting.  “Fighting our lifelong foe.”</p><p>“Ginny,” said Undine, “Didn’t you say there is a painting of you at Beauxbatons without your clothes?  Isn’t it too late for such modesty?”</p><p>“They tried to cover it up…”</p><p>“We are French!” said Beatrix.  “We do not cover up art!  And particularly at the moment we need <em>this</em> painting,” she insisted, gesturing at Joan of Arc.  “To rally our people!”</p><p>“You need to make this sacrifice,” said Undine earnestly, from behind Ginny.  “In a noble cause.”</p><p>“Well, take <em>your</em> clothes off!”  Ginny retorted over her shoulder.  “<em>You</em> can make the sacrifice!”</p><p>Ginny caught sight of Gosse’s expression.  He was looking wooden, tragically lost and upset. </p><p>“All right!” she said hastily.  “It’s OK, Gosse!  Don’t look like that!  You can display it if you want to!”</p><p>“You don’t object?” asked Gosse, unsure.</p><p>“I don’t!” she said.  “I understand…”  She put her arms around him and hugged him.  It did feel hugely comforting to do so, especially when his hands stole around her.  <em>I’ll think about Gosse</em>, she vowed to herself.  <em>About him working on the painting for so long, until he fell asleep in front of it.  And forget I’m in the painting.</em>  “Display it wherever you like,” she said.  “I mean it.”</p><p>“Breakfast now?” suggested Beatrix.  “And presents?”</p><p><em>What happens if the school finds out? </em>she asked herself in panic.  And what <em>are my parents going to say?  And Ron…  And Harry…?</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. The Nuckalevee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Ginny had left Beauxbatons at the end of the last term, the skies had been leaden, the valley gloomy, but when she returned the change was a surprise.  The entire valley was covered with snow, beneath bright blue skies.  The air was icy now, and Ginny wasn’t the only returnee to exclaim loudly at the colder conditions.</p><p>Her apartment seemed chilled, too – the fire wasn’t lit of course - so she hurried to the staffroom.  There the fire was already burning, and she could warm herself, and exchange banalities with the other members of staff there.  It was nice to see them again, even the prickly Lesassier.</p><p>When she could drag herself away from the fire, the view from the window, out over the lake and beyond, was spectacular. </p><p>“Snow skating season,” said Odson over her shoulder.  “Are you experienced at that, too?”</p><p>“Not at all,” Ginny admitted.  “I’ve never tried it.”</p><p>Odson looked puzzled, but shrugged.  “I’m sure Mister Cotte won’t mind you joining his beginner lessons,” he said.  “You really need to try it.  I’m sure many of us wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the snow skating.”</p><p>Ginny was nervous yet intrigued, and went to tackle Cotte there and then, to ask if she could have lessons.</p><p>He frowned and looked puzzled, too.  “I would have thought you were an adept,” he said.  “But I have no objection.  It will be painfully slow to begin with, mind.”</p><p>“Have you seen the Barbegazi?” asked Denis Odson, behind her.</p><p>“What are they?” asked Ginny in return.  “A kind of animal?”</p><p>He gave her a twisted, amused smile.  “No.  Although, technically, yes.  Barbegazi are local here.  They’re like a small dwarf, but they have very large feet.  But for us it means something different.  Let me show you!” </p><p>He led her across the bridge and up the slope behind the family houses.   The purpose of the wide bands of grass between the trees was clear now:  The broad slopes were covered in snow and endless figures, sliding across them.</p><p>“This is Barbegazi,” said Odson.  “The real Barbegazi skate on their bare feet, and here we do that too.  These are the older pupils,” he added.  “Watch!”</p><p>The speed of the snow-skating pupils alone was thrilling, twenty times a fast walking pace, Odson told her.  The way they weaved down the slope was bemusing.  It had to be the same spell as for water-skating, she decided, or a similar one.  The pupils skimmed over the snow, barely disturbing it. </p><p>“There!” exclaimed Odson.  “Look there!” </p><p>He was pointing to a girl as she skimmed down the slope.  Ginny watched in amazement as the girl spun forward, onto her hands, and then completed the somersault so she was back on her feet, still careering down the hillside.  Then she did a row of somersaults.  “Amazing!” she exclaimed to Odson.  “Beautiful!”  He nodded, pleased.  “It’s like <em>Choc</em>, isn’t it?”</p><p>He nodded.  “The spell is different, because it includes the hands.  But similar, yes.”</p><p>Another pupil managed a series of cartwheels, before unbalancing and falling, in a mess of snow. </p><p>“Oh no!” exclaimed Ginny.  “Is she all right?”</p><p>“She’ll be fine,” said Odson, although it took the girl some time to get to her feet, and then she was limping down the hill, but she was still smiling like the sun.  “Look!” Denis said, pointing.  “Watch that one!”  A surprisingly small boy was coming down the hill backwards, and as she watched he leapt, in a backflip, and then again, and then again…</p><p>A couple were coming down the hill, hand in hand, and then they were turning outwards from each other, linking hands behind their backs.  Now they were flying down the hill backwards, then turning again so they were facing forwards.  Then the smaller one – a girl - was pirouetting under her girl partner’s arm. </p><p>“You won’t be able to do that for a while,” said a voice behind her.  She turned, and found Cotte behind her, watching the display.  He nodded to Odson and skated away from her, across the slope, and then to her surprise he was skating up the hill.  The movement looked like water-skating, and must have been hard work, but he made it look easy.</p><p>“Don’t try that,” Odson advised.  “That’s not Barbegazi.  Different spell entirely.”</p><p>She had two full school days to get through before her first lesson.  Those two days seemed much longer, now that her body had lazily got used to days with only twenty-four hours in them.  But by her third day there she was getting into her stride once more, and could look forward to lessons on the snow.  She had to endure a further half day of teaching before the afternoon rolled around and she got to try the snow herself. </p><p>She gathered at the foot of the slopes with a group of new pupils who looked sidelong at her in amazement, when they weren’t staring at the older pupils slipping towards them down the slope.  They were all wearing new figure-hugging single-piece ski suits in Beauxbatons pale blue.  Ginny was painfully conscious that her bottom stuck out more than anyone else’s, more so when she realised that some of the boys’ eyes in particular seemed to notice too.</p><p>Cotte slid up to them holding a wooden box, which he opened.  “Form a line,” he said.</p><p>Ginny looked at the other pupils, who looked at each other and her, and they sidled into a line.  Ginny found herself on one end.  Cotte was easing a dragonskin glove onto one hand, like the ones Professor Sprout always used with the more aggressive plant species.</p><p>“Right,” said Cotte.  “Turn round.”  There was a pause before everyone meekly obeyed.  “Now, hold your arms out in front of you,” he said.  “Out straight.”  Ginny did so, puzzled, and could see a line of horizontal arms, below her to her left.  </p><p>“Now, raise your wand arm above your head.  Your wand arm, understand?  For the benefit of art teachers, that’s the one covered in paint.”</p><p>Ginny obediently raised her right arm, then slid her left arm behind her back and made an obscene hand gesture, one that her brother Ron had taught her, all those years ago.  Would that mean anything in France?</p><p>“Thank you, Madame Duchaine.  Your left arm out straight, please.  Now please don’t move.”</p><p>Ginny was conscious of Cotte approaching behind her.  Something touched her bottom, her left buttock, and she flinched.  She was conscious of something small pressing against her skin through her suit.  Out of the corner of her eye she could see Cotte moving down the line, and could see the startled look of each pupil in turn, and their eyes swivelling nervously.</p><p>“These are Barbegazi tokens,” said Cotte as he neared the end of the line.  “When you reach the bottom of the slope, touch the token in your pocket once.  Only once!  You will be taken to the top of the slope once more.  Understand?  If you change your mind, a second touch, a single touch, will take you back to the bottom of the slope.  If you fall over anywhere on the slope, a single touch will take you to the top of the slope, so you can try again.”</p><p>“Port keys,” Ginny said to herself, and the boy next to her nodded at her, wide-eyed.</p><p>“So when you touch the bottom,” said another boy, brightly.  “Touch your bottom!”  She recognised Eduard Coutermanche’s voice, a cheeky toerag who often had difficulty keeping quiet.</p><p>“Thank you, Coutermanche,” said Cotte.  “You can all turn around now.  So one touch from everyone, please.”  He disappeared.  Ginny jumped once more, reached her fingers into her rear pocket and encountered something small and round.  She felt a huge drag behind her navel, and she was instantly at the top of the slope, with nothing around her except blue sky and distant mountains.  Cotte was standing in front of her, and he was watching as the rest of the line popped into existence next to her.</p><p>“Good,” said Cotte.  “One more touch…”  He vanished.</p><p>Ginny reached behind her obediently.  Another wrench behind her navel and she was at the bottom of the slope, the crowds in front of her once more.</p><p>“Now,” said Cotte.  “You are all used to <em>Choc</em>, so this should be easy and intuitive…”</p><p>“Not very comfortable,” Ginny heard one of the girls mutter.</p><p>“Quiet please,” said Cotte, irritably.  “Your legs need to be springs, to cushion your spine, to keep you balanced, understand?  So bend your…  MISS DELISLE!”</p><p>Everyone turned to look.  Constance Delisle was frozen in place, and strangely see-through, because several times a second she would disappear and reappear, flashing on and off. </p><p>“Miss Delisle!  Take your hand out of your pocket!” snapped Cotte.  “<em>Take – your – hand – out</em>!” he repeated, drawing the words out.</p><p>Suddenly Constance was solid once more, her face woeful.  She bent slowly forward and brought her hands to her stomach.  “Ooh!” she moaned.  “My belly button really hurts…”</p><p>“As Miss Delisle has demonstrated,” said Cotte in annoyance.  “Do not continue to touch the token!  Now pay attention… Miss Delisle?  Everyone please attend…”</p><p> </p><p><em>If self-Obliviation was possible</em>, Ginny told herself repeatedly that afternoon, <em>this would be the time to use it.</em></p><p>She had fondly assumed that Barbegazi would be like water-skating, but the mere fact of putting it on a slope, it seemed, was all it took to fool her senses.  No sooner had she started moving than she fell over, often painfully, sometimes face-first, so she was sanding her nose and mouth on unforgiving snow, but more often on her bottom, which now felt like one big bruise.</p><p>“Well,” said Coutermanche at one point, brightly encouraging, “At least you have a big…”</p><p>“COUTERMANCHE!” yelled Cotte, right behind Ginny, making her jump.</p><p>“… to land on,” finished Coutermanche.</p><p>Most of the other first-years seemed to find it annoyingly easy.  Yes, she could tell herself, some had done this before, and they were aggravatingly cheerful as they twirled around the rest of the pupils.  But some, including Coutermanche and Constance Delisle, were starting in the same place as Ginny, but were soon considerably better than her.</p><p>“Get some practice in,” advised Cotte in her ear as the session finished.  “You just need to get used to it.”</p><p>“When?” she snarled, unappeased.  “In all that spare time I have?”</p><p>He shrugged and left her to it, but anger and bruised pride made her ignore her physical bruises, and the same evening she was on the slope once more, while her other self slaved over endless homework.  There were other figures on the snow in the gathering gloom of a late spring evening, but they left her to it, and she continued to slide, fall and swear, ever more loudly.  Then she had to creak her way over to the Infirmary to beg some dittany, loudly fend off offers of help, limp back to her apartment and slather herself in the stuff.</p><p>“Any better?” asked her other, earlier, self, lifting her head from her marking, and was sworn at as a result.  “You should have said yes,” said the homework-marking Ginny.  “Then I would have gone out there with the right frame of mind.”</p><p>Dittany-covered Ginny could only mutter mutinously.</p><p> </p><p>She was marking more homework the following evening when her other self entered the apartment.  She restricted her interrogation to a raised eyebrow. </p><p>Her alter ego peeled off her Barbegazi suit and reached for the dittany.  “Sussed it,” she said, shortly.</p><p>And somehow, when it came to her turn, and she was on the slope once more, it was easier.  More natural, and instinctive.  Yes, she fell, several times, but she was getting better at that too, and now she could – on occasion - slide the entire way down the beginner slope on her feet.  She studiously ignored the others around her – students who had finished their homework, and some staff – as they weaved, danced and somersaulted, but told herself doggedly that as long as she could slide, that was enough.</p><p>She could never decide, afterwards, whether her muscles had finally learned what her brain couldn’t, or whether her future self’s less discouraging words to her earlier self had made the entire difference.</p><p> </p><p>Sunday mornings were usually a quiet time for Ginny.  The afternoons were usually spent in the library, in preparation for the coming week, writing hurried lesson plans, researching what she was meant to be teaching, and marking the leftover piles of homework that seemed always to accumulate, like dust.  But the mornings were a chance to simply relax, briefly unharried by looming deadlines.</p><p>Today’s relaxation was baking a cake.  She’d been intrigued to find that the school library had a cookery section, and she’d chanced on a recipe that was very like one Beatrix had served up over Christmas, and she was determined to reproduce it.</p><p>It was hideously complex, pushing Ginny’s baking skills into unknown territory, including several spells that were new to her.  The base had been relatively easy:  Boulders made of cream-filled choux balls, reminding her of the rocks protecting the Goblin cave entrance, although it was tricky to get them to bind together to form the necessary foundation for the next stage.  Then gluing squishy dates together into a cylinder and coating them in chocolate truffle to form the trunk and major boughs of a little tree.  Erecting the tree onto the rock base.  (She’d had to cheat, adding extra spells to convince the tree roots to bind to the choux balls, which niggled her.)  Then the coffee-flavoured filagree of smaller branches, and then the hundreds of peppermint leaves that had to be individually attached.  Then a waterproof glaze over the entire thing.</p><p>She was on the final stages now:  She’d anchored the little rain cloud above the tree with a freeze spell (she’d needed several goes at that; she kept coagulating the spun sugar) and was just trying to get the rainstorm to circulate properly (maple syrup pumped magically from beneath the choux boulders back into the cloud) when someone hammered loudly on her door.</p><p>She growled lengthily to herself, picked up her wand, flicked it to clean her fingers, and stepped back from her task.  She stalked over to the door, ready to give the family house member responsible a reaming out for disturbing her.</p><p>But it was Alfo, looking troubled and anxious.</p><p>“I’m guessing this isn’t a social call,” said Ginny.  He shook his head, uncertainly, but wouldn’t speak, looking along the landing in both directions, nervously.  “Do you want to come in?” she asked, unenthusiastically.  She hadn’t bothered to tidy recently.</p><p>To her surprise Alfo hurried inside.  He didn’t even notice her morning’s creation, but turned to look at her, a stricken expression on his face.  She closed the door, intrigued now, but he still wouldn’t speak. </p><p>“So who’s in trouble?” she asked.  “You or somebody else?”</p><p>“Nobody!” he shot back.  “Well… not…”  Then he dried again.</p><p>“Not yet?” she suggested.</p><p>“She didn’t come back,” he managed to say.</p><p>“<em>Who</em> didn’t come back?” Ginny asked in puzzlement.  “From where?”</p><p>“There’s no harm,” he said. </p><p>“What sort of harm?”</p><p>He continued to fidget as the secrets inside him struggled to escape.</p><p>“Just… hunting,” he said. </p><p>“<em>Hunting</em>?” she asked in surprise.  “In this weather?”  A glance out of the window showed it was still snowing, as it had for days now.  Winter, it seemed, had changed its mind about giving way to spring.  Even with a wand it was hard to get around the school at the moment, and the outside paths were snow-walled corridors.</p><p>“They don’t come out…”</p><p>“<em>Who</em> don’t?  Would you like a Bat Bogey, Alfo?” she demanded impatiently.</p><p>“Nuckalevees,” he admitted.  “Not unless it’s snowing.”</p><p>“<em>Whats</em>?  So who’s hunting… Nuckalevees?  And what <em>are</em> Nuckalevees?”</p><p>A Nuckalevee resembled a young Thestral, it emerged, in that it lacked skin, but looked even worse, because their flesh was still blood-red.</p><p>“These are freshwater Nuckalevees,” Alfo explained, incomprehensibly. “Smaller than the sea ones.  Like a large dog,” Alfo managed to say.  “Or a small pony.  And they have a rider,” added Alfo, nervously.  “Who’s also got no skin, and they’re red too.  And they have big heads, and very long arms that trail on the ground.  They’re horrible…”</p><p>“Not as horrible as a pupil who disturbs my Sunday morning,” grumbled Ginny.  “Is that why you want to hunt them down?”</p><p>He looked shocked at the idea.  “<em>Me?  I</em> don’t hunt them!”</p><p>“Well, good.”</p><p>“And… she… doesn’t either!  She just adores magical animals, that’s all!”</p><p>“Wait!” said Ginny, realising.  “Is she’s one of Lesassier’s loonies?  A Flobberworm fan?”</p><p>Alfo looked both scandalised and annoyed.  “She’s really expert on them!  She <em>studies</em> them!  But… she… went out last night to hunt Nuckalevees, and she didn’t come back!”</p><p>“So who is she?”</p><p>“A… friend of mine.”</p><p>“Alfo, you’re getting there,” said Ginny encouragingly.  “You’ve almost got a whole story out.  But if you don’t finish this story soon, you’ll be entirely covered in bat bogey.  When did she leave?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” said Alfo.  “Late last night, I think.  Because Nuckalevees don’t come out in daytime.  And they like blizzards.  And… and… sheep.  She just said…”</p><p>“Yeah.  <em>Who</em> said?”</p><p>“I can’t say…”</p><p>“Shall I Legilimens you?” she demanded.  A pointless threat, as Legilimency against a pupil would be the end of her job, she knew.</p><p>“No!  I don’t want to get her in trouble…”</p><p>“Nor do I.  Her name is…?” </p><p>“Coraline,” said Alfo after a long silence.  “Coraline Perrero.”</p><p>“At last,” she said, wearily.  “I know Coraline.  School monitor, yeah?”  Alfo nodded, miserably.  “Do you know where she is?”</p><p>“In the mountains somewhere.”</p><p>“Where?”</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“Great.  OK, Alfo, I’ll have to get some help.  Go back home.  If I need anything else, I’ll come and ask you, OK?”</p><p>She shrugged herself into her fur robe and boots, then shovelled him back through the door and out of the house.  Denis Odson lived on the next parallel street down, and she trekked through the snow – falling and fallen – along her own street, down the hill and back along the next street.  The snow was being blown unpleasantly into her face by the wind. </p><p>There was no answer from Odson’s door – He lived in an apartment like hers, in another family house, and the pupils there shrugged when she asked where he might be. </p><p>To her surprise Alfo was still on her shoulder.  “What now?” he asked, worriedly.</p><p>“It’ll have to be Mr Cotte,” said Ginny.</p><p>“<em>Cotte</em>?  No, he will be so angry!”</p><p>“Would you prefer I talked to the Headmaster?” asked Ginny, pointedly.</p><p>“Well, <em>no</em>, but…”</p><p>They walked back along the street and knocked at the staff house where Cotte lived with his family, but then Alfo started to back away.</p><p>The door opened slowly, and hesitantly.  A pair of beady eyes gazed out at her at waist height. </p><p>“Hello, Louis,” Ginny said.  “How are you today?  Is your father here?”</p><p>“Snowing,” said Louis, carefully, looking around, wide-eyed.</p><p>“Yes, it is,” said Ginny, with faux patience.  “It’s snowing on me.  Can I come in?”</p><p>“Snowing,” repeated Louis.</p><p>“Why’s the <em>door </em>open?” demanded Cotte’s voice in the distance.  “Louis!  Close the door!”</p><p>Ginny put her hand out to prevent Louis obeying.  “Mr Cotte?” she called out.  “It’s me, Ameline.”</p><p>The door opened fully, and Cotte was standing there, staring at her in surprise.  He was in outdoor clothes, already spotted with snow.</p><p>“Oh,” he said.  “Yes?”</p><p>Ginny tried to explain the little she knew.  And Alfo was quite right about the Arithmancy teacher’s reaction.  Even those few seconds were enough for Cotte to wind himself into fury.</p><p>“Silly idiot!” he ranted.  “Why can’t she just risk her own life?”  Ginny could only shrug.  “But Nuckalevees…  There’s only a couple of places she’ll be,” he said irritably.  “Come with me!”</p><p>He dragged out his wand, lit it and strode along the street and up the hill, followed by Ginny and Alfo.  As soon as they were outside the school’s protective barrier, Cotte took her arm, and they were twisting.  To her surprise, Alfo latched on to her arm at the last second, and she was being dragged in two. </p><p>It had been breezy and cold before, but suddenly Ginny found herself in a true blizzard, with a snow-laden gale whistling around them, lit by Cotte’s wand.  He was staring at Alfo in amazement.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” he demanded. </p><p>“I want to help,” said Alfo.</p><p>Cotte shook his head in resigned annoyance.  “Stay with Madame Duchaine,” he said.  “Stick like glue.”  He beckoned, and they were following him.  To her right was a flat area of snow that she realised slowly had to be covering one of the small lakes that were to be found high in the mountains.  It was hard to see any distance around her, but she could sense no mountainside nearby.  They must be in the high plain above the school.  The sound of the gale in her ears was disturbingly immediate.</p><p>Cotte was shouting something to her, but his words were snatched away.</p><p>“What are you looking for?” she shouted in his ear.  Alfo’s head was close to them both now, struggling to hear.</p><p>“A hole in the ice,” Cotte bawled back.  “Where the Nuckalevees come out to eat.”</p><p>“Eat what?”</p><p>“Sheep, mostly.  And goats.”</p><p>“Not pupils?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Do they eat people?”  Ginny shouted.</p><p>“Oh… No,” shouted Cotte.  “But they will attack if you corner them…  No, nothing here.  Pity…”  He took her arm, and Ginny quickly reached out for Alfo’s hand.  Then they were twisting once more.</p><p>The wind was even stronger here, and she found herself tottering downwind as soon as she let go of the other two.  To one side was a steep white hillside, but on the other was another flat plain, smaller than the last – another Alpine lake - and at one edge she could see a disturbance:  A pile of snow, and a dark patch, which resolved into a hole in the ice. </p><p>“Ah!” called Cotte, behind her.  “Follow me!”</p><p>Ginny had to fight upwind to follow him, and was grateful for the extra support that Alfo’s hand gave her.</p><p>“So why is she hunting Nuckalevees?” she yelled in Alfo’s ear.</p><p>“She wants to collect magical animals,” shouted Alfo.  “She’s obsessed with them.”</p><p>They had caught up with Cotte, who was searching the ground with his lit wand.  For footprints, she guessed.  Cotte beckoned to them, and Ginny took Alfo’s arm again and followed the Arithmancy teacher with difficulty – the wind was across their path now, trying to push her bodily sideways.</p><p>The wind was suddenly less:  They were in the lee of a small hill – or just a large pile of snow, she couldn’t be sure.  It was easier to see, with less snow driving into their faces, but their ears were still full of the sound of the gale.</p><p>Ginny could see what Cotte was following now:  There was a path through the snow, as if something had been dragged along, and there were the remains of footprints beneath that.  They were heading slightly downhill now, and reached a hollow, a dozen yards across. </p><p>“Oh, no,” said Alfo in her ear.  “Oh no!”</p><p>It was a gruesome sight at first, but then Ginny realised that the blood red object in the middle of the dip wasn’t Coraline, but the strangest animal she had ever seen.  As Alfo had described, it was like a small skinless horse, blood-covered, although the head was strange and un-horse-like.   A cow’s head, perhaps, or a badger’s.  And the blood-covered rider looked very inhuman, with its large globular, featureless head and hideous long arms.  Both horse and rider were sprawled in the snow, jerking spasmodically.  She realised then that the redness was criss-crossed with ropes.  A net.  Beyond the Nuckalevee was another figure lying in the snow, human this time, in Beauxbatons fur robes, also twitching.  Cotte was crouching beside her, his wand held high so its light could help him examine her.  The girl’s face was blank, her eyes rolling, her movements random.</p><p>“Is she dead?” Alfo asked, behind Ginny. </p><p>Cotte merely shook his head, and it was up to her to say something.  She recognised this.  “Her soul’s gone,” she said as levelly as she could.  “So’s the Nuckalevee’s.”  <em>What a stupid thing to say.</em></p><p>“What?” asked Alfo.  “What do you mean?”</p><p>Cotte came to Ginny’s rescue.  “Dementors,” he said, looking up at them.  “They’ve taken her soul.”</p><p>“No!” cried Alfo.</p><p>Cotte flicked his wand, and the light went out.  “Avada…”</p><p>“No!” shouted Ginny too, and launched herself at Cotte before he could complete the spell.  She landed on him, and both of them rolled across the snow.  “What are you doing?” she shouted at him, as she pushed herself away from him. </p><p>“<em>Lumos!” </em>snapped Cotte. In the light of his relit wand she could see he was more bemused than angry.  “What do you think I’m doing?” he demanded.  “Do you want her like this?  Does he?”  He pointed to Alfo, whose hands were to his face, his fingernails digging into his flesh. </p><p>“We should try and get her soul back!” Ginny said, desperately.</p><p>“<em>What?  </em>Don’t be ridiculous!”</p><p>Ginny felt such frustration then.  “Do you guys… not <em>talk</em> to each other?”</p><p>“Meaning what?” demanded Cotte, in irritation.</p><p>“If you…” she started shouting.   “Merlin’s beard,” she muttered to herself, before shouting out the rest: “If you kill the Dementors who took their soul, they get it back!  They recover!”</p><p>“What rubbish is this?”</p><p>“Listen!  Voldemort made this spell, that kills Dementors!  We – they, I mean, the British - found the spell, and it works!  It kills Dementors!  And when it does, the souls come out of them…  And if the bodies are still alive, they go back together, and they recover!”</p><p>“The Dementors?” asked Alfo in bemusement.</p><p>“No!  The victims!  The Dementors’ victims!”</p><p>“How do you know this?” demanded Cotte.</p><p>Something in her still was keen not to blow her cover, even now.  She shook her head in frustration.  “It’s not a secret!  I thought everybody knew!”  Surely McGonagall would have told the other schools, even if the Ministry kept things to themselves? </p><p>“So how do you know about it?”</p><p>“I was in England!” she said.  “I heard then!”</p><p>Cotte seemed to accept this.  “You are part English,” he said then in realisation.  “I’d forgotten.  So how does this spell work?”</p><p>“You enchant a dagger,” Ginny said. </p><p>“And do what?”</p><p>“And you stab the Dementor!”</p><p>“Ginny, the Dementors have gone!” said Alfo, brokenheartedly.  “Gone!  We’re too late!”</p><p>“So we summon them back again!” said Ginny, loudly.</p><p>“<em>Summon</em> them? snapped Cotte.  “How?”</p><p>“I… We… set fire to a tree!”</p><p>“How does that work?” Cotte demanded.  “And there are no trees around here!”</p><p>“<em>Do I have to do all the thinking today?</em>” Ginny demanded in frustration. </p><p>“We can’t take her back to the school…” began Cotte.</p><p>“<em>Why not</em>?”</p><p>“Because – if it works, which I doubt - it’s far too risky to have Dementors there!”</p><p>“OK, then!” Ginny snapped.  “Find us some other trees, OK?”</p><p>She could see Cotte didn’t like this, but he gathered up Coraline in his arms, gestured for Ginny and Alfo to hold on to him, then twisted. </p><p>It was suddenly much quieter.  They were at the edge of a forest of conifers, on a mountain slope, but the gale was much reduced.  Cotte laid the girl down on the ground.  “Choose a tree,” said Cotte, grimly.  “Any tree!”</p><p>Ginny realised he still didn’t believe her.  In annoyance, she pulled out her wand – it was between her shoulder blades, in French fashion – and flicked it at the tree next to them.</p><p>Ginny still wasn’t used to her new wand.  The tree erupted in a roar of flames, and they had to retreat rapidly from the scorching heat, while Cotte dragged Coraline out of danger.</p><p>“I need a dagger!” Ginny said then, realising. </p><p>“A dagger?” shot back Cotte.  “I don’t have a dagger!”</p><p>“Wait!” she shouted.  She twisted, and she was on the hillside above the family houses, and she was running downhill, heedless of the risk of twisting her ankle, then skidding into the right street, and was struggling to open the door to her house with fingers that wouldn’t bend.  She ran straight past a surprised pupil about to leave, managed to run up the stairs to her room, and then she was scrabbling around in the sink for a knife. </p><p>She retraced her steps, and she was running up the hill once more so she could Apparate back to where the others were.</p><p>The knife still had Provencal sauce on it; Would that matter?</p><p>And would this work?  If not, they’d have to drive the Dementors away again.  And hope they didn’t find the school. </p><p>She twisted, and to her relief she was with Cotte and Alfo again, and Coraline, lit by the burning tree.</p><p>“Any sign?” she asked in fear.</p><p>“We’re still alive,” said Cotte, pointedly.  She felt better when she saw a Patronus – an otter, like Hermione’s – circling around them.  “Now what?” he asked.</p><p>“Wait,” she said.  Her wand was already in her hand.  “<em>Demenda Regis…</em>” she started.  <em>Who should it be?</em>  “<em>Demenda Regis </em>Alfonso Fretel!”  The knife glowed blue.</p><p>“What?” cried Alfo in surprise.  “Me?  Why me?  What have you done?”</p><p>She held the grubby knife out to him.  “You take it,” she said.  “When the Dementors arrive, you stab them.  It’s as easy as that!”</p><p>“I can’t…!”</p><p>“Yes you can!  Take it!”</p><p>Reluctantly, he accepted the knife from her and looked at it worriedly.  “It’s dirty,” he said.</p><p>“I don’t think the Dementors will mind!” Ginny snapped, her face suddenly warm.</p><p>In her mind’s eye, she expected to see the Dementors appear in an arrow from the sky, as in the past, but instead they arrived through the trees, as silently as ever, and made straight for them.  She could feel her skin prickling in fear.</p><p>“<em>Expecto Patronus!” </em>she screamed, and only Coraline didn’t flinch when two huge white rhinos erupted from the end of her wand.  Cotte’s otter scuttled out of the way, but then the three mismatched Patronuses were circling the crowd of Dementors, dizzyingly, and the Dementors were closing in on all three of them. </p><p>“Stab them, Alfo!” she shouted.  “<em>Stab them</em>!”</p><p>Alfo was looking around himself in confusion.  Ginny could see – and feel – the Dementors scaly hands reaching out to grab at their faces.  She had to drag her Patronuses back closer to protect them and scatter the Dementors.</p><p>“<em>Stab them!</em>” she screamed.</p><p>Alfo seemed to awaken, and Ginny could see the knife rise in his grip and then stab wildly at the nearest Dementor.  To her huge relief the hooded shape turned into black spray, and then Alfo was turning to stab at a second Dementor.  She could hear their thudding alarm call. </p><p>She realised with a lurch that the Dementors were escaping.  Ginny sent her rhinos out once more, and they were circling the Dementors now, driving them closer to the three of them, and Alfo was reaching out, stabbing, stabbing…  There were swirls of black and white around them now, as each Dementor vanished.</p><p>Ginny could see Cotte’s otter snapping its jaws, left then right, as her own twin Patronuses used their horns to drive the Dementors closer and closer.  The thudding sounds were very loud in her ears, and then suddenly there was silence. </p><p>They looked around themselves anxiously.  The Dementors had gone, and so had the swirling black.  They watched the white swirls gather, and then some were heading for the horizon, while the rest were descending around them.  Ginny didn’t realised she’d been holding her breath until one swirl swooped downwards and gathered over Coraline’s face, in a white cloud.  The girl was still twitching horribly.  <em>This isn’t going to </em>work, Ginny told herself in fear.  Then the cloud seemed to pour through the skin of Coraline’s face, and the twitching was suddenly writhing, and the girl was turning over, and screaming, face down. </p><p>“Coraline!” shouted Alfo.  He still had the knife in his hand, and he dropped it on the churned snow.  He fell on his knees beside her, and reached out to put his hand on her shoulder.  “I’m sorry…!” he cried.</p><p>Coraline was no longer twitching horribly, and fell still, and Ginny was convinced she was dead.  But then the girl was twisting over once more, her eyes no longer held that terrible blankness, and she was looking around in amazement.  She pushed herself up, so she was sitting. She opened her mouth to say something, but shook her head and shut it again.  Alfo’s head was in her lap now, and he was sobbing, his shoulders shaking.  Coraline uncertainly reached her hand out to him, and carefully stroked his hair. </p><p> </p><p>“Well,” said Madame Cotte, stepping back from Coraline.  She was the Infirmarian, as well as being Mr Cotte’s wife.  “There’s nothing wrong with her that I can see.” </p><p>“Exactly!” said Coraline.  She was sitting up in bed, pugnaciously looking around at the group circling her bed.  “So can I go now?”</p><p>Raduard de Metz and his wheelchair took pride of place on one side of the Infirmary bed, with Madame Pummeroy hovering behind him, opposite the Cottes and Ginny.  Alfo was there too, hovering by Coraline’s shoulder.</p><p>“You had a lucky escape, Miss Perero,” said de Metz.</p><p>“Lucky?” put in Pummeroy.  “Miraculous…”</p><p>“I am grateful,” said Coraline, sincerely.  “But I’d like to be out of here.”</p><p>She pushed back the sheets and bounced out of bed.  Her robe was on the chair beside the bed, and she shrugged herself back into it.</p><p>Ginny couldn’t stop smiling, triumphantly.  Not about rescuing the girl’s soul, although that was still a huge relief.  Coraline Perero was a school monitor, and had all the self-confidence and maturity that entailed.  But more than that:  She had a very blunt and determined nature.  She wasn’t very tall, and was stockily built.  OK, not a redhead, but a Spaniard, with dark and wavy hair.</p><p><em>All the same</em>, Ginny decided, <em>there’s a lot of resemblance between Coraline Perrero and Ameline Duchaine</em>.  <em>I’m flattered</em>, <em>Alfo, </em>she said to him silently, and smugly.</p><p>“Let’s go, Alfo,” said Coraline.</p><p>“Where are you going?” asked Pummeroy, looking bemused.</p><p>“Mountains,” said Coraline.  “If I’ve got my soul back, then so’s that Nuckalevee, and it’s stuck in a net.”</p><p>“Miss Perero,” said de Metz, firmly.  “Trapping Magical animals is against the law.  So I expect you to release it.”</p><p>Coraline gave him a stare in return.  “It’s for breeding purposes,” she said.  “They’re endangered.”</p><p>“Do you have a licence?”</p><p>“No,” said Coraline, after another stare. </p><p>“Then release it,” said de Metz.  “Do I have your word?”</p><p>“OK,” said Coraline, grudgingly.  “Come on, Alfo,” she said, and stomped towards the door.  She paused as she reached it, and turned, and stared at Ginny.  “Thanks,” she said.  “Thanks lots.”  Then she left, with Alfo behind her.</p><p>De Metz turned to look at Ginny.  “It’s fortunate,” he said, “That you are in touch with the latest news in England.  Thank you, Miss Duchaine, for your timely and invaluable help.  And we are grateful to you too, Cotte.”  He flicked his wand and his wheelchair turned and glided towards the door.</p><p>Madame Pummeroy tutted.  “Goodness!  What would we have <em>done</em>?  I think we are all in your debt, Ameline!”  She smiled uncertainly, then turned and trotted after her headmaster.</p><p>“I think it’s masterful,” said Cotte, standing next to her, as they watched the Deputy Head go.  But before Ginny’s head could grow any larger, he continued: “Masterful, the way that several questions were not asked today.  Our headmaster is a consummate politician, is he not?”</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The Unveiling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny was in urgent need of a rest by the end of term, and was grateful to Beatrix for inviting her to stay once more.  But her stress levels weren’t allowed to sink to normal levels.</p><p>“So what have you chosen?” Beatrix asked Ginny, almost as soon as she was through the door. </p><p>Ginny looked around in confusion.  “Chosen?”</p><p>“What dress!”  said Beatrix.  “For the unveiling!”</p><p>“Of Joan of Arc,” Undine added.</p><p>“Something special,” said Beatrix.  “Like your crescent moon dress.”</p><p>“<em>I’m</em> not going to be there…” Ginny started, in horror, but Gosse was there too, and she could see his expression.  She stopped talking, and fumbled, and found herself loudly saying that of course she would be at the ceremony, to support Gosse, of course she would.</p><p>“You need to see Florence,” said Beatrix, ignoring all this.  “As soon as possible.  But you must let us pay for this, of course!”</p><p>Which alarmed Ginny even more.  If Florence and Beatrix were in charge, she would end up dressed in a couple of stars, or less.  Her Time Shifter hours did translate to a marked increase in her Beauxbatons salary - and removed almost every opportunity to spend it – so she was able to insist, and buy her own dress.</p><p>Florence seemed more in a listening mood this time, skittishly yet amiably prepared to allow her to choose.  To Ginny’s relief and surprise, she was allowed to leave the shop fully dressed, and carrying a long dress made of a subtly patterned fabric in pale blue that reached to the floor, which even had a small train that whispered behind her as she walked.  She demonstrated this triumphantly to the Holombec household, who praised it excessively.</p><p>Only then she was shown what Gosse was going to wear:  A long formal robe, in a grey matt fabric, with a hood.  When they stood together, they looked like a his and hers couple.  Suspiciously, she grilled Gosse and the others, but all professed complete innocence, and she didn’t really have the nerve to return to Florence and demand an explanation from her.  Or a different dress.</p><p><em>I’m being stitched up here</em>, she told herself uneasily.  <em>And I don’t quite understand how.</em></p><p>“It’s a lovely dress,” Undine said repeatedly.  “And there’s nothing to worry about.  Gosse has done so many of these.  A couple of dozen people at the most.  And they’ll mostly be there to chat to each other, and drink more than they should.  They never talk to the models.  It is etiquette.  It’s easy.  Just hang on to Gosse’s arm and smile.”</p><p><em>I’ll just have to go through with this</em>, Ginny told herself repeatedly.  <em>And really there’s nothing to worry about.  And more to the point, I don’t have a choice.</em></p><p> </p><p>There were an army of butterflies in her stomach on the evening of the unveiling as she lifted her arms and Florence’s dress flowed onto her.  The mirrors in Gosse’s room were reassuring about her appearance.  Undine was fussing about Ginny’s hair, wanting to comb it excessively, and Ginny made herself endure that.  <em>It’s like a battle,</em> she told herself.  <em>You can do those</em>.</p><p>The four of them – Beatrix, Gosse, Undine and Ginny – Apparated directly to a room inside the Army Museum, to avoid the notice of any Muggles around the building.  Ginny found herself in a huge brightly-lit room, full of people.  Many of them had drinks in their hands, or were clustered around waiters with huge trays, giving out glasses of multicoloured liquid.</p><p>Gosse looked around in amazement, and then at Ginny, who latched onto his arm, nervously.  “There must be something else happening this evening,” said Undine.  “So ours will be a very private gathering.  Nothing to worry about!”</p><p>“This way,” said Beatrix, and gestured impatiently towards a pair of tall double doors.  They threaded their way through the crowd, following Beatrix and Undine, both in neat short dresses.  <em>Am I overdressed?</em> Ginny worried.  <em>I’ll just have to skulk at the back.</em></p><p>Undine looked over her shoulder at Ginny.  “I think we’re at the wrong party!” she said, gaily.  “We should be at this one!”</p><p>The small room they walked into… wasn’t small.  It was dimly lit, but as high as the previous room, and half its size, with neat rows of chairs laid out facing a small stage.  <em>This is the wrong room</em>, Ginny told herself.  But she could see a large, shrouded object on the stage that looked suspiciously like Gosse’s painting, with a handful of chairs on either side of it.</p><p>Her legs didn’t seem to belong to her now, and the floor felt spongy beneath her heeled shoes. </p><p>She looked at Gosse, and he was white as a sheet, and wouldn’t meet her eye.  Her worries were submerged in sympathy for him, although her stomach was still hideously uncertain.  He led her onto the stage, in the wake of Beatrix and Undine.  Beatrix fussily sat Gosse down on the chair nearest the shrouded painting, and because Gosse wouldn’t let go of Ginny’s hand, she sat down beside him. </p><p>As if this was a signal, people began pouring through the doors they’d entered by, and taking their chairs.  They were a noisy, cheerful crowd, which was the only thing they had in common with a collection of British wizards and witches.  Instead of the strangely individual clothing she was familiar with from home - chosen to look as different as possible to everyone else - these participants were almost universally in dark red robes, with only a few wearing long form-fitting costumes in colourful and elaborate fabrics. </p><p>Her hand was hurting now, because Gosse was squeezing her hand excessively.  He took in a sudden breath.  “What’s the matter?” she asked him.</p><p>He nodded towards the door.  “That’s the Minister.”</p><p>“The Minister for Magic?” she asked in amazement. </p><p>He could only nod.  The Minister – small, swept-back hair, pigeon chested – mounted the little stage and nodded cordially towards Gosse.  He took a chair on the other side of the painting.  He was followed by a woman whose floor-length dress was a mirror, who smiled at everybody equally as she sat beside him.  Beatrix crossed the stage and was talking to the woman, whose smile seemed to slip, but she responded cordially enough.</p><p>Gosse was muttering something. </p><p>“What?” she asked him.</p><p>“They don’t like us,” murmured Gosse in her ear.</p><p>“Why not?  What do you mean?”</p><p>But he could only shrug. </p><p>The room was almost full now, and full of sound.  <em>Any minute now, </em>a worried voice said inside her, a<em>ll these people are going to see me with no clothes on.</em></p><p>An elderly woman mounted the stage, and the noise dropped suddenly.  She was dressed in glittering black, with a strange headpiece perched in her hair.  She shook hands with the Minister and his companion, and shooed Beatrix back towards Ginny and the others.  Beatrix didn’t appear to take offence, but pulled up a chair and sat behind and on the other side of Gosse.  She took his hand as well. </p><p>“A good evening to you all,” said the elderly woman.  “I am delighted to see so many of you for this occasion.  I would like to think that our lives are now returning to normal, that we are at last coming to terms with the new peace.  That we can look at each other, and see not differences, but our similarities.  Not our histories, but our common desire for peace.  Not our bitternesses, but our need for common goals.   Brotherhood, and amity.”</p><p>There was a polite ripple of applause.  Gosse’s hand in hers jerked galvanically, disquieting Ginny more.</p><p>“This competition was launched as a small step towards that peace.  We said: Let us all agree on a simple straightforward matter.  Let us find and recognise a young artist.  Let us seek a single piece of art that speaks to us all.  And I believe we have found that.”</p><p>More applause. </p><p>“The winner of the Amber Dragon Award for Art will be awarded by our own First Minister, and we are honoured to welcome him here.  First Minister!”</p><p>The elderly woman was applauding, as was everyone else, and the Minister was standing, coming forward. </p><p>“Thank you, Academician,” he said, and the elderly woman stepped back. </p><p>“First Minister!” shouted a voice from the audience.  “First Minister!  What can you tell us about the situation in Poland?”  Ginny could see someone standing in the audience, waving a piece of paper. </p><p>The First Minister ignored him.  “This is not the evening for a speech,” he said instead.  “I think that will please most of you.  I imagine you are as eager as I am to see the painting….” </p><p>“First Minister!”</p><p>“And return to our drinks!  So, I am delighted to present the prize for the Amber Dragon Award to Gosse Holombec, for his piece, entitled Joan of Arc…”</p><p>Applause began, but nothing else happened, and it seemed to be up to Ginny to urge Gosse to his feet, and then push him forward.  The Minister was saying something, beckoning to the elderly woman, who hurried forward with a scroll.  The Minister stepped towards the centre of the stage, and gestured at Gosse, who approached him, reluctantly, so they met in front of the covered painting.   The Minister passed the scroll onto Gosse, and then shook his hand, briefly.  A photographer appeared out of nowhere and took several photos.  Gosse stepped back, uncomfortably, to stand fidgeting at the edge of his painting.</p><p>“And now the painting,” said the Minister.  Ginny started to cringe as the Minister produced his wand and waved it at the curtained artwork.  The shroud across the painting vanished.</p><p>Silence.</p><p>To Ginny’s surprise, instead of applauding, the roomful of people stood and crowded towards the front, their eyes and mouths open in wonder. </p><p>Ginny’s alter ego, to her relief, was equal to this.  She continued to balance on the back of the horse - which even in this huge room seemed as magnificent as ever - wave her sword, oblivious to the capering of her mount, and utterly ignore being entirely naked in front of a roomful of people, and a photographer – No, a pair of photographers, now…</p><p>Somehow, having a second Ginny in the room to handle the everything-showing rôle made it easier.  She could leave it to her other self to cope with the embarrassment, with having endless people crowding up to the painting and gawping, while she took the adulation.  Gosse was leading her down from the stage now, his hand still clenched around hers, while bewildering numbers of strangers crowded around them, asking her flattering questions, flirting with her, admiring her, adoring her. </p><p><em>Emerald would have known what to do here</em>, she told herself.  <em>She would have loved to dress up like this. She’d have known how to chat to perfect strangers.  How to flirt, without turning pink.  How to enjoy all this.</em></p><p>The persistent young man who had heckled the First Minister turned out to be a reporter for <em>The Mage</em>, the French magical newspaper.  He was bulky and well-muscled, reminding her vividly of the rugby players at Charlotte’s party.  His eyes on her were lively.  His name was Hector le Blanc.</p><p>“What’s your name?” he began.</p><p>“Ameline,” she said.  “Ameline Duchaine.”</p><p>“So are you a professional model?” he asked next.</p><p>“No,” said Ginny.  “We’re just friends.”</p><p>“Girlfriend?” Hector suggested.</p><p>“He wishes,” said Ginny, liking this.</p><p>“So how did he persuade you to take off your clothes?”</p><p>A photographer hurried up to them and insisted on taking photos of Gosse and her.</p><p>“He tried to make me wear armour,” Ginny invented, trying to ignore the photographer.  “But I refused.”</p><p>Beatrix was prising her hand from Gosse’s, and leading him away to talk to someone else.  The photographer kept taking photographs of her.</p><p>“Has he painted you before?” le Blanc asked.</p><p>“Well…”</p><p>“Nude?”</p><p>“He mostly paints nudes, yes.”  <em>Click.  Click-click-click.</em></p><p>“Have you posed for anyone else?”</p><p>“Um…”</p><p>“For another famous artist?”</p><p>“No, for my art pupils.  But that was because they heard about this,” she said gesturing towards her other self, nearly hitting the photographer in the lens.</p><p>Hector’s eyes lit up.  “Really?  So you are an artist, too?  Can we photograph you with the painting?  And with Mr Holombec?”</p><p>“Sorry,” said Ginny.  “No.”  The photographer slouched away, looking grumpy.  “What’s this about Poland?” she asked in her turn. </p><p>But le Blanc’s eyes were already elsewhere.  He shrugged, and turned away, but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back.  “Hey!” she demanded.  “Answer the question!”</p><p>He turned back and looked at her, frowning.  “Poland?”  She nodded.  “It’s not war yet,” he said.</p><p>“Not…?  So what <em>is</em> it?”</p><p>“It’s tense,” he said, his eyes scanning the room now.  “Very tense.  But they haven’t done anything at the moment.”</p><p><em>Harry’s in Poland…</em>  “Who are <em>they</em>?” she shot back. </p><p>“Well, the Goblins, to begin with,” he said.  “And others.”</p><p>“Such as?”</p><p>He hoisted one eyebrow sardonically.  “So, who do you know in Poland?” he asked.</p><p>“Nobody,” said Ginny, feeling her face go red.  “What’s going on there?”</p><p>“Nothing.  According to Potter.  Is <em>he</em> your interest?”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>The crowd parted at that point and she was distracted by the sight of a familiar figure, in a wheelchair.  Raduard de Metz.</p><p>Le Blanc wheeled around to see who she was looking at.  “Raduard de Metz!” he said, looking back at her.  “You are well-connected.  You know de Metz, <em>and</em> Potter.”</p><p>“Harry’s just a friend,” she said, annoyed.</p><p>“Is he?  Tell me what you know about Harry Potter, and I’ll tell you all I know about the situation in Poland.”</p><p>“Is he OK?” she demanded.</p><p>“That’s a question, but it tells me you’re close to him…  Wait!”  He was looking at her hair.</p><p>
  <em>Oh no…</em>
</p><p>“You’re English, aren’t you?  That accent…”</p><p>“I don’t have an accent,” said Ginny, in annoyance. </p><p>“So you <em>are</em> English.  Thank you.  See?  You don’t want to tell me anything, but you can’t help yourself.   Well, an exchange of information.  You have told me a little, so I will tell you something small.  What do you know about the Magic Ministry in Poland?”</p><p>“That’s another question,” she pointed out.</p><p>“True.  And your answer tells me that you know almost nothing of that country.  So let me help you:  The Hidden Duke may be dead, but he still runs the Polish Magic Ministry.  And for some reason our Ministry – the British Ministry and the German ministry and others – are not enemies of Poland, but uneasy allies.  Interesting, yes?  And here is a bonus for you:  There is a resistance movement in Poland.  Some wizards, some witches.  Some Giants, and others, but most of the resistance comes from the Goblins.”</p><p>“And what’s Harry got to do with this?”</p><p>“No, no!” said Hector, shaking his head in amusement.  “That is all the answers you can have.  Unless you want to buy some more.”</p><p>“Buy how?” she asked, suspiciously.</p><p>“Some pictures for my newspaper, perhaps.”</p><p>“Pictures of what?”</p><p>“Of you, of course,” said le Blanc.  He pointed to Joan of Arc.  “Like that.”</p><p>“<em>What?</em>  No way!”</p><p>She was about to turn her back on him, but she was distracted by seeing de Metz again, talking to someone who was stooped politely over him.</p><p>Le Blanc shrugged.   “Many would be grateful to have a photograph in the <em>Mage</em>.”</p><p>“I’d be grateful not to,” said Ginny, hotly.  “Understand?”</p><p>“It is not a problem,” he said, unruffled.  “If you have decided you don’t need to know anything more about Poland.  You have told me all<em> I</em> need.”</p><p>“What does that mean?” Ginny asked in annoyance.</p><p>“You’re English.  You have red hair.  You’re a close friend of Harry Potter.  I even have your name now.  Jenny Weasley.”</p><p>She growled under her breath.  But it was too late for denials.  “Ginny,” she said.  “Ginny Weasley.”</p><p>“You see?  Once more you confirm everything.”</p><p>De Metz’s companion turned, and Ginny realised it was Denis Odson.  He caught her eye, and she saw him murmur something to de Metz. </p><p>“So,” said Hector, cheerfully.  “I know that Harry Potter’s ex-girlfriend is hiding from the British Ministry in France under an assumed name.  Perhaps not hiding very well, because she takes her clothes off and reveals everything.  What does Harry Potter think about this?”</p><p>Odson was approaching her now. </p><p>“He doesn’t know,” said Ginny, glaring at Hector.  “So don’t tell him!”</p><p>“Well!” said Odson as he reached her.  “Is this a new hobby of yours?” he asked.  “Should we expect to see you in the natural state around the school now?”</p><p>She didn’t bother to answer that one.  “This is Hector le Blanc, Denis,” she said.  “Reporter and busybody.  Be careful what you say to him.  So why’s the Headmaster here?” she asked Odson.</p><p>Odson shrugged.  “He was surprised to recognise you.”</p><p>“I’ll bet,” said Ginny, under her breath.  “I hope he isn’t going to make a scene.”</p><p>“That would be worth an answer or two,” offered le Blanc.  He patted her shoulder as he left to persecute someone else.</p><p>“What did you tell him?” Odson asked.</p><p>“Nothing!”</p><p><br/>Ginny witnessed a strange sight later that evening:  She was flirting with a young couple – they were obviously wealthy, both very handsome – when the crowds parted around the painting, and she glimpsed Raduard de Metz, on his own, in his wheelchair, staring at the painting.  Her painted self was paying no attention to him, her concentration purely on the enemy and her own troops. </p><p>“With no clothes on?  Like that?” the girl – Noémie - was laughing.  One of the photographers was snapping endless photographs of her, and she paused frequently to pose for him.</p><p>“Why not?” her partner – Adenet - was saying.  “Both of you, while I paint you…”</p><p>De Metz was still there, still staring.  <em>Am I in trouble?</em> Ginny wondered.  <em>And in trouble how?</em>  She hadn’t been aware of his eyes on her in the past.  But if he was simply angry about the painting, why stare at it for so long?  Why not leave?</p><p>A loud shriek from Noémie.  “<em>What?  </em>No!  Never!” she was saying.  “Find me a nice <em>boy</em> to kiss, Adenet!”</p><p>“I’m not painting a boy!” Adenet insisted.  “An ugly boy?  No, they have to be beautiful.  Only young girls, kissing.”</p><p>“No, Adenet!” Noémie insisted, “And anyway you’re no painter.  You could paint a wall, perhaps, but not a girl.  You are too crude…”</p><p>“Just kiss her anyway,” Adenet urged. </p><p>“You kiss her!” protested Noémie.</p><p>“All right,” he said.  Ginny’s attention was still on de Metz’s back when she found Adenet’s hands on her – rather familiarly on her – and kissing her.  He was a good kisser, but she pushed him away, startled.  To her relief the photographer was still concentrating on Noémie.</p><p>De Metz turned in his wheelchair, and he caught her eye.  No nod, no smile…</p><p>Noémie was shrieking with horror.  “Not like that!” she cried, but she was still laughing.</p><p>“Your turn,” said Adenet.</p><p>“No!” said Noémie, but her hands were on Ginny now, and the girl’s tongue was wrapping around hers.  “There!” said Noémie.  “Satisfied?”</p><p>De Metz had vanished, Ginny saw, when Noémie let her go.  And the photographer was grinning at her.  <em>Meaning what?</em></p><p>“You must come and see us,” Noémie was saying to her.  “We are very dull at the moment.”</p><p>“And I will paint you,” said Adenet.  “What colour would you like to be?  I have lots of red, at home.”</p><p>“She is already a very good colour,” said Noémie.  “I would die for skin like hers.”</p><p>“Like <em>mine</em>?” asked Ginny in amazement.  Noémie’s skin glowed like gold, and Ginny was hugely envious.  “Who wants to be white and freckly?”</p><p>“It is <em>real,</em> that colour!” said Noémie.  “Your painting shows it.  You are that all over!”</p><p>“You have no secrets,” Adenet said to Ginny, shaking his head in mock sorrow.  “Unlike Noémie.”</p><p>Noémie turned in annoyance to him.  “What secrets?” she demanded.  “I have no secrets!  Look!  Here is our address!” She handed Ginny a small black oval, printed in gold.  “That is not a secret!  Are you free tomorrow?” she asked Ginny.  “Bring Gosse, if you can.”</p><p> </p><p>Gosse, predictably, didn’t want to go anywhere near Noémie and Adenet.</p><p>“Help me out here, Gosse!” Ginny pleaded.  “I don’t know them!  I don’t even know their last names!”</p><p>“Plantagenet,” supplied Undine.  They were at dinner, enjoying yet another of Beatrix’s creations.  “They were only married last year!  It was an amazing event.  Everyone was there!”</p><p>“<em>We</em> weren’t there,” Beatrix pointed out. </p><p>“The press were!” insisted Undine.  “All the photographers!”</p><p>“That girl cannot breathe without a photographer in the room,” said Beatrix. </p><p>“Do you think I shouldn’t go?” Ginny asked, uncertainly. </p><p>“No no!” said Beatrix, robustly.  “They asked you, didn’t they?  I think they are harmless enough.”</p><p>“I thought you hated them?” said Undine, pouting. </p><p>“Hate them?  No!” said Beatrix.  “They are establishment, that is all.  Pretty flowers of the poisoned vine.”</p><p>“Vine?” echoed Ginny in puzzlement.</p><p>“She means the Bonnacords,” said Undine, in an ironic whisper.</p><p>“What’s wrong with the Bonnacords?” Ginny asked in puzzlement. </p><p>“They’re all related, that’s all,” said Beatrix.  “They have a wand in every potion.  And yet suddenly…”  She gestured, crossly.  “Bah!  The Hidden Duke is dead, and suddenly they’ve never heard of him.”</p><p>“Were they all Death Eaters, then?” asked Ginny.</p><p>Beatrix shook her head, unhappily.  “No.  That is not a term we use here, to begin with.  And here it is different anyway.  All British followers of the Hidden Duke were Death Eaters, whether they were his most trusted advisor or most despised henchman.  Here… well, there is more snobbery.  Here we have Hidden Earls, and Countesses, and Knights, and Esquires.  Each has their own part in the hierarchy.  Below them are the Hidden Wands, who are the foot soldiers of the Hidden Duke, but they would never see him, hear him.  Only their masters, or their master’s masters, would do that.  And many of those are Bonnacords.  Or Plantagenets, or other families like that.”</p><p>“In England,” said Gosse, “When the Hidden Duke fell, his followers fell, too.  Here, they are still untouched.”</p><p>“So shouldn’t I be staying away from them?” Ginny asked, still bemused.  “All of them?”</p><p>“You will have a very quiet life without them,” scoffed Undine.  “They are everywhere.” </p><p> </p><p>Ginny asked Beatrix about Poland, and told her what le Blanc had said, but received only a puzzled stare in return. </p><p>“They make stories, these reporters,” was all Beatrix would say.  “I know Poland had problems with Goblins a few years ago.  Perhaps he is reheating that story.”</p><p>Ginny wanted to ask Apolline, but realised then that the Holombec house didn’t have fireplaces, being entirely magically heated, and no Floo Powder.  And then she was stuck: She doubted that the secretive Apolline would appreciate a pair of rhinoceros turning up at home.  She would have to wait until she got back to Beauxbatons, leaving her with an unpleasantly itchy feeling.</p><p> </p><p>There was no sign of Voldemort’s followers, senior or not, at the Plantagenet’s house.  It was a very pretty building, in pale stone, with many pillars, set amongst the largest garden Ginny had yet seen in Paris.  Noémie welcomed her noisily, and almost dragged her into the house.  Here there were endless flowers – and innumerable photographs of Noémie, in a sumptuous variety of costume.  Every painted Noémie was aware of her own beauty, and continually turned, posed and preened until Ginny felt dizzy.  Adenet made an appearance in some of the photographs, but even there Noémie entirely dominated. </p><p>Noémie led her chattering through the house, gesturing to her favourite flowers and photos of herself, so the ignored Noémies pouted and scowled, brushed their dress straps further down their shoulders and pushed out their chests.  They ended up in a courtyard, where the real Adenet was standing, drink in hand.  The couple were casually dressed, beautifully so, and Ginny felt dowdy and plain in a dress she’d bought at Christmas. </p><p>Adenet greeted her in a friendly fashion, with a less overheated embrace and kiss than last time, and pressed a drink on her, which was fresh, fruity and effervescent. </p><p>“He makes them himself,” said Noémie.  “It is his only skill.”</p><p>“It’s very nice,” said Ginny, but she didn’t have to lie – the drink was delicious.</p><p>“You have just missed our cousin Cadence,” said Adenet.  “Do you know her?”</p><p><em>Cadence?  No, it can’t be</em>, thought Ginny.  “I don’t think so,” said Ginny. </p><p>“She is only young,” scolded Noémie.  “Why would she know her?  She is still at school,” she said to Ginny. </p><p>“Which school?” asked Ginny, uncertainly. </p><p>“Beauxbatons, of course!” said Noémie.  “She is very magical, that one.”</p><p>“Is this Cadence <em>Demoulin</em>?” asked Ginny in surprise.</p><p>“Yes!” said Noémie, triumphantly.  “You do know her!”</p><p>“I’ve barely met her,” admitted Ginny.  “Well…”  <em>Yes, in my dreams, but don’t go there...</em>  “I’m meant to teach her, but she never turns up.”</p><p>Noémie and Adenet’s faces both screwed up in mystification.  “<em>Teach</em> her?” asked Noémie.  “Teach her what?”</p><p>“Well, Humanities…”</p><p>“You are a <em>teacher</em>?  We thought you were a model!”</p><p>“No!  Gosse is just a friend,” said Ginny, feeling her face heat.  Was she here under false pretences?  “He likes to paint his friends,” she said, uncertainly.  “And family.”</p><p>Adenet grunted with disbelief.  “That is not what we hear,” he said.  “Every model in France has been painted by him.”</p><p>“So you teach at Beauxbatons?” asked Noémie.  “We had no idea!”  She looked nonplussed.  “You don’t <em>look</em> like a teacher!”</p><p>Ginny felt irritable, and suddenly mortal among these godlike beings.  “Well, I don’t look like a model, either,” she said.</p><p>“Yes!  You do!” said Noémie.  "They are very popular, the unusual features.  Who wants to look like me?”</p><p>“Everyone, darling,” said Adenet, caressingly.</p><p>“Pah!” said Noémie. </p><p>“Do you have a picture of Cadence?” asked Ginny, hesitantly.</p><p>“Of course!” cried Noémie, taking Ginny’s arm and twisting.  “Come!”</p><p>Ginny was surprised to find they were in an entirely different house.  Noémie and Adenet’s house wasn’t small, but the room they were in now belonged in a sizeable palace.</p><p>“Bah!” said Noémie.  “It is always so dark here…  I am Bonnacord!  Open!”  The shutters across the tall windows broke open with a woody thud.  Beams of sunlight filled the room, illuminating thousands of dust particles floating in the air.  A tut, and a flick from Noémie’s wand, and they had gone too.  Ginny could see the room was lined with endless paintings – portraits.  The paintings were dim shadows, though, revealing little of their subjects.</p><p>“This!” said Noémie, proudly pointing to a small portrait high on the wall.  Ginny could see the outline of a young girl, but the features were shadowed.</p><p>“I can’t see…” Ginny began.</p><p>“Ah, they always do this!” sang Noémie.  “They are very private, you see.  But I can say this…  <em>I am Bonnacord, show yourselves</em>…”</p><p>There was a collective gasp throughout the room, and the previously dark and shadowy paintings were full of brash colour and vibrant flesh tones. </p><p>“I am a Maupassant, before I was a Plantagenet,” said Noémie confidingly in Ginny’s ear.  “But we are all Bonnacords, truly.”</p><p>“Is this the Bonnacord house, then?” asked Ginny.</p><p>“Of course.  The current Baron still lives here.  Well, he is in Cannes at the moment, for his health.”</p><p>The subjects of the paintings were still recoiling in shock, covering their faces, or in some cases more than that, for some of the paintings showed their subjects in diaphanous drapes that failed to conceal vital parts of their anatomy, and the new bright colours hid nothing.  The room was full of dazzling dresses, vivid uniforms. </p><p>“See!” said Noémie.  “This is my cousin, in the dress of the Third Brigade of Aurors!  He looks very fine, do you not agree?  Very handsome!  My Adenet was with the Third Brigade, but he refuses to wear the uniform now.”  The expression of the subject of the painting – who was tall, moustached and debonair – slackened from annoyance to smirk.  “And this is my cousin Apolline.  And here is Brigitte, who was a cousin too, of a kind.  She was a Paquin, which is a very inferior branch, but she is here because she is pretty, I think.”</p><p>But Ginny was still staring at a portrait that was unmistakably of Apolline Delacour.  “I know her,” she said, blankly.  Noémie drifted back to Ginny’s side.  “Oh, Apolline!  That was a great scandal, that!  She is actually a true Bonnacord, but she insisted on marrying someone of no family whatever!  Mafia, I think. Or was it trade?  A disgrace, anyway…  But we were looking for Cadence!  Come!”</p><p> </p><p>But the painting that Noémie brought her to showed little; Its subject had turned her face away from the viewer, and only her dark hair was visible. </p><p>“Ah, she is like that,” said Noémie when Ginny pointed it out.  “Which is extraordinary, because she is very beautiful.  The most perfect features!”</p><p>The figure shifted, looked briefly over her shoulder, and then she was turning around so her face was visible at last.</p><p>“See?” crowed Noémie.  “Such eyes!  Such cheekbones!  Such lips!  Imagine when she is a little older, and grows the figure, too!”</p><p>The face, and figure, were of Cadence Demoulin, who was looking at them now, sideways, with catlike conceit.  She was as beautiful as Noémie had described her.  And as Ginny remembered her, from her dreams.  It wasn’t hard to transform that expression of self-satisfaction into the one she remembered, of pleasure, and arousal.</p><p>Ginny stepped forward to inspect the painting more closely, and the girl looked down at her in arrogant pride.</p><p>“But…” said Ginny, puzzled now.  “But this isn’t Cadence,” she said in confusion.  She could see a label now, under the painting, a small, engraved label in brass.  “It says Genevieve Plantagenet.  Who’s that?”</p><p>“Ah!” exclaimed Noémie.  “I always do that!  They are very alike, you see.  Come!”  She clasped Ginny’s hand and hauled her down to the far end of the room.  Here was another small portrait, and again the head of the subject of the painting was turned obstinately away, despite Noémie’s cajoling.</p><p>“Never mind,” said Noémie, gaily.  “Come and see my Aunt Risette!”  She was dragging Ginny away from the portrait of Cadence.  “They say she looks like me, but I think, sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t!”</p><p>“Wait!” said Ginny, suddenly, spying another portrait they were passing.  She dragged her arm free, and pulled out her wand.  <em>“Petrificus Totalis!”</em> she shouted.</p><p>It had been an instinctive reaction; A face she recognised had been turning away, but was now frozen, a look of horrified surprise on her face.</p><p>“Ameline!” cried Noémie in amazement.  “What are you doing?  That is very rude, I think!  And you have frozen them all!  How did you do that?  See, here is the Third Baron Bonnacord, unable to move!  And he looks very angry!  And his <em>mother</em>!  She is furious!  Well, perhaps that is a risqué costume she is wearing…”</p><p>But Ginny was staring at the portrait she had attacked.  <em>Honore Bonnacord (1919 – 1941) </em>read the label.  Her hair was in strange ringlets, and her dress curiously straight and low-waisted.  But the frozen, angry features were unmistakably those of Cadence Demoulin.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. The Collapse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny tried to Floo-Powder Apolline about Poland as soon as she got back to Beauxbatons, but she was little help.</p><p>“Stay away from Hector le Blanc,” Apolline said irritably.  “He is a scavenger, that one.  He will do anything for a story.”</p><p>“But what <em>is </em>the story?”</p><p>“There is no story!  Yes, there are Goblins in Poland.  Yes, there was trouble with them when the Hidden Duke was alive.  But now they are merely protesting.”</p><p>“But what’s this about Death Eaters running Poland?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Apolline, dryly.  “But we have enough problems of our own.  Poland will have to wait!”</p><p> </p><p>The summer term meant the return of <em>Choc, </em>of course, even though an icy wind still rolled across the lake.  But nobody seemed to care, and the <em>Choc</em> diamonds were always full.  As referee and coach, Ginny was much in demand, and her Time Shifter use had to increase again, to give her time to defrost after hours on the lake, in addition to squeezing in her other endless duties.  Still, the high spirits of everyone around her were stimulating.</p><p>Or almost everyone.  A week into the term, Coraline cornered her after a history lesson, wanting to talk about Alfo. </p><p>Coraline didn’t seem her usual business-like self.  In fact she was strangely edgy, and worried.  “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she said.  “He’s changed.”</p><p>“Have you had a row?” asked Ginny dubiously, not keen to wade into their relationship.</p><p>Coraline shook her head impatiently.  “Not at all.  Well, he was a little strange at the end of last term,” she conceded, “And I thought the holidays would do him good, even though he was at home and I was in Spain, but as soon as we were back, he got worse.”</p><p>Ginny felt guilty that she hadn’t noticed anything wrong with Alfo, but she’d been busy, she rationalised to herself.  “But what can I do?” she asked Coraline.</p><p>“Talk to him,” said Coraline.  “He won’t say anything to me.”</p><p>“I’d rather…”  <em>Not</em>, she was going to say, but Coraline took hold of her arm, forcefully.</p><p>“Please,” she said.  “He likes you.  Perhaps he will tell you what he won’t tell me!”</p><p> </p><p>Of course, Alfo was then as hard to find as Cadence Demoulin, until Ginny had a little luck.  Even though that meant Alfo had the opposite. </p><p>His family senior <em>Choc </em>team were playing in an early league match when Alfo - even more absentminded than usual - was cannoned over by an opposing Wolf and Cat, and dislocated his elbow.  Ginny unfeelingly seized her chance by handing over refereeing to Mister Cotte, who happened to be nearby when the accident happened, and accompanying Alfo to the Infirmary.</p><p>“I can go on my own,” said Alfo, unhappily, but he was as white as a ghost, and Ginny robustly rejected his protestations and insisted on staying with him. </p><p>Madame Cotte made quick work of putting Alfo’s arm back as it should be, but recommended he stay in the Infirmary for the rest of the afternoon.  Ginny plonked herself in a chair next to his bed, and he couldn’t avoid her questions any longer.</p><p>It was nothing to do with Coraline, he said at last.  He was just feeling a little down.  That was all.</p><p>“Sleeping all right?” Ginny asked randomly, but to her surprise his colour drained back out of his face and he looked at her with a terror that twisted his handsome face.</p><p>“What?” she asked, nonplussed.</p><p>“Nothing!” he insisted.  “It’s nothing!”</p><p>But an instinct made her sit forward and stare at him intently.  “You’re having nightmares,” she said, with sudden certainty.</p><p>He shook his head, weakly.  “No…”</p><p>“OK,” conceded Ginny, determinedly.  “Dreams, then.  Disturbing dreams.”</p><p>“I can’t…”</p><p>“You can’t talk about them?  Is that it?”</p><p>He nodded, uncertainly.</p><p>“They’re embarrassing?” she prompted.  Another nod. </p><p>She shifted even closer to him, so she could whisper.  “Dreams… about sex?”</p><p>He stared at her in alarm.  Horrified, woeful, upset.</p><p>“<em>Who with?”</em> she demanded.  But he shook his head slowly, and wouldn’t answer.</p><p>“Not with Coraline,” she suggested.  He hesitated, shook his head.</p><p>“But someone here,” she said.  “Someone at Beauxbatons?”</p><p>His eyes were wide and staring, but eventually he nodded.</p><p>“A girl,” she tried then.  “A pupil.”  A microscopic nod. </p><p>“You have to tell me,” she said, intensely. </p><p>“No,” he said. </p><p>“Everyone has dreams,” she tried.  “Don’t worry about it.  Is she good looking?” she suggested, trying to smile naturally.  The image of an aroused Cadence flickered across her mind.</p><p>He nodded, fearful now, but she could see he wanted to tell her, to confess.</p><p>“So what’s wrong with that?”</p><p>He fidgeted restlessly.  “She’s too young,” he said eventually.  “She’s only sixteen!” </p><p>“And her name is Cadence Demoulin,” Ginny couldn’t stop herself saying.</p><p>Alfo looked at Ginny in horror.</p><p> </p><p>Ginny was determined now to track down Cadence Demoulin.  <em>A few more hours to the day won’t kill me</em>, she told herself.  <em>And I need to know what she’s doing.  To me, and to Alfo.  And who else?</em></p><p>But it was like hunting a ghost.  Whenever she quizzed the other teachers, as indirectly as she could, they all confirmed that Cadence was attending her lessons with them as normal.  But she never attended any of Miss Duchaine’s Humanities lessons.  Ginny tried sending her messages, requesting a meeting, but they were ignored.  If she hung around after classes Cadence should have been in, she was strangely absent.  The girl was as slippery as an eel.</p><p>Ginny went back to the library.  Was there a spell that could do this?  Could you inject yourself into someone else’s dreams?  But she came up with nothing.  Certainly there were plenty of grimly unpleasant spells to achieve sexual domination over another in the Prohibited section of the library, ones that spoiled her appetite and disturbed her sleep, tales of Incubi spells and <em>Imperius</em> curses, but nowhere could she find the dreams that she and Alfo had been subjected to. </p><p>Ginny eventually came to the unpleasant realisation that this was nothing to do with dreams at all.  That in some way Cadence Demoulin was physically meeting with both of them, and then blanking their memories.  Only she wasn’t blanking them enough.</p><p>How many spells were there?  When you included all the ridiculous ones, like making each of your toenails flash a different colour, there had to be thousands.  How could a wand keep track of them all?  And why would a wand want to acknowledge the malevolence of some of the spells that the Prohibited books held?</p><p>
  <em>The Compass Curse:  Use this spell to cause Great Pain to an Enemy whenever they face the Direction in which you are to be found.  The Pain is Hideous when they are Face to Face in the Same Room as you, but even at a Great Distance the Spell will continue to Drive you Enemies Away from you, even to Another Country.</em>
</p><p>Suddenly Ginny was sitting up and blinking the tiredness out of her eyes:</p><p>
  <em>The Resurrecto Spell:  Raise your deceased Loved One into the body of another.  The Vessel will be consumed for an entire hour, so your Loved One will appear before you, and Act as Them.  At first, the Vessel will have no memory of their Possession.  Use this Spell sparingly:  It is an abuse of the Rule of Nature that a dead Loved One should Remain for Long in Our World, and In Time their Memory will stain the Memory of the Living Body.  Be prepared only to Encounter your Loved One no oftener than you behold a Full Moon.  Break that Covenant, and you risk Exposure, which only Death of the Vessel will Cure.</em>
</p><p>She wanted to run and find Alfo right then, and warn him, but what good would that do?  How could they be on their guard against a spell they couldn’t see or feel, except in dreams?</p><p>
  <em>I’m going to find Cadence Demoulin.</em>
</p><p>Ginny added as many time shifts as she could bear, but there was never any sign of the girl anywhere else in the school during the scheduled Humanities lessons.  She wasn’t in her family house, or the library, or the Infirmary, or walking around the lake, or any empty classroom Ginny checked.  She did surprise other wrongdoers in the process – mostly pupils skiving lessons, or gambling with Gobstones, or smoking strange herbs, and a courting couple.  But no Cadence.</p><p>Where was she hiding?  It occurred to Ginny that Cadence might have a Time Shifter, but surely that would have made her easier to catch, because there’d be more of her at any given time.</p><p>Unless Cadence Demoulin’s Time Shifter allowed her to step <em>forward</em> in time, and not just backwards.  Was that possible? </p><p>She couldn’t ask Madame Allaire, of course.  And she could find no hint in the library of such a Time Shifter, even now her medieval French was beginning to improve.</p><p>Eventually she asked Apolline.  She couldn’t confess to her about the dreams, or about Cadence Demoulin, but tried to make it an academic enquiry.</p><p>“Impossible,” said Apolline.  “Only backwards in time is possible.  It is like Apparating, yes?  You have to know where you are leaping <em>to</em>.  So as you have not visited the future - until you reach it normally, of course - you cannot jump forwards in time.  And I fail to understand how this would help you, in your current circumstance!”</p><p>“I was just wondering,” Ginny said, lamely.</p><p><em>I’m just not clever enough</em>, she told herself in annoyance.  <em>What does Cadence know that I don’t?</em></p><p> </p><p>“So what are you doing for Founder’s Weekend?” Denis Odson asked her one day in the staffroom.</p><p>Ginny looked blank.</p><p>“It’s a holiday,” he explained.  “The whole school goes home for two days.  Of course, it always rains then,” he added.  “That’s part of the tradition.”</p><p>“Don’t people stay behind?” Ginny asked.  She was thinking longingly of twenty-four hours, and no more, in a day, and even two solid days in bed…</p><p>“Nobody!  It’s the custom!” insisted Odson.  “Our families expect us, you see.  And if you stay here, you starve, because even the house-elves are on holiday!  Unless you can cook for yourself, of course,” he added, as an obvious impossibility.</p><p><em>If I had two solid days here</em>, Ginny told herself, <em>I could search this entire school.  If there’s any evidence of where Cadence is hiding, I’ll find it.  I might even find her!</em></p><p>“I’ll probably go back to Paris, then,” she said carelessly. </p><p>“Ah, yes,” said Odson.  “That young man of yours.  Another work of art, perhaps?”</p><p>“As long as he can paint me asleep,” she answered in the same tone.</p><p> </p><p>As Founder’s Weekend neared, she began to curse herself for being ridiculous.  She hadn’t told the Holombecs anything, hoping they would lose track of the event, and assume she was at Beauxbatons as usual.  And what did she hope to find?  Wouldn’t two days off be a much better idea?  True, Gosse would probably expect her to model for him, but maybe he could be persuaded to do something else…</p><p>She discovered that she had longer than she’d thought:  The school would close down immediately the last lesson ended, at five o’clock on Friday, and not resume until lessons began on the Monday morning.  Two and a half days to explore the school, times as many Time Shifts as she could manage.  She wouldn’t even need to be careful not to be seen.</p><p><em>Except by Cadence, of course</em>.  Although it seemed unlikely that she would be here.  Why would the girl stay?  When she was so determined to avoid Ginny, surely she wouldn’t want to be at Beauxbatons. </p><p> </p><p>Ginny made sure she was seen twisting from the main gate, with a cheery “Bye!” as she Apparated, but she merely twisted high up into the mountains, where she waited, and fidgeted.  There would always be people slow to leave, or even come back having forgotten something.  How long should she leave things?</p><p>She made herself wait an entire hour before spinning back to the edge of the school, and then she walked down the hill to her apartment. </p><p>Silence.  Nothing.  The school seemed entirely deserted.</p><p>Her house was entirely quiet, and she searched it in its entirety, just in case, although the chances that Cadence would hide so close to Ginny seemed an impossibility.</p><p>
  <em>Am I being paranoid?  Maybe she’s hiding from someone entirely different.  A fellow pupil, bullying her.  A teacher…</em>
</p><p><em>Maybe this is a really stupid idea.</em>  <em>And an utter waste of time.</em></p><p>She crept along to the family house next door, and whispered “<em>Alohamora!”</em>.  The door clicked open. </p><p>Silence within; She had to nerve herself to enter the house, and listen, but it was clearly empty, and she could search every room thoroughly.  The next house: Another search, another blank.</p><p><em>I don’t even know what I’m looking for</em>, she told herself crossly.  <em>But what else should I be doing?</em></p><p>It took her several hours just to search the entire street she lived in.  Then she had to make herself twist back to six o’clock, move to the next street down, and repeat the entire operation.  It got easier:  It became clear that no-one else was around, although a hunting bat was an ageing experience when it flew over her shoulder unexpectedly. </p><p>By midnight, for the fourth time, she was exhausted, hungry and thirsty, and made her way back to her own apartment, to drink thirstily, to eat and then sleep, time shift and sleep once more.  But she was awake at her normal waking time the following morning, and dragged herself out of bed onto still aching feet.  For variety, she left the remaining family houses, crossed the lake and spent several passes through the morning searching every glass-lined classroom, office and cupboard.</p><p><em>Nothing</em>.  She treated herself to an extended lunch then snooze, then shifted back to the early afternoon once more, with a sense of resignation, and turned her attentions to the remainder of the family houses.</p><p>
  <em>Still nothing.</em>
</p><p><em>I’ve wasted an entire day</em>, she told herself crossly.  <em>Several days, in fact.  I could have gone home, taken the Time Shifter with me, and spent an entire fortnight, just about, with Gosse…</em>  Although with Beatrix and Undine around that particular dream was probably impossible.</p><p><em>Maybe a week with Gosse, and a week with Undine</em>…  No.   Even less possible.  <em>You’re just overwrought</em>, she told herself.</p><p>She dragged her tired mind back to her search.  <em>What haven’t I searched yet?</em></p><p><em>The Choc pavilions</em>, she realised.  They were large structures, mostly open, but there had to be places to hide, surely? </p><p>Of course, Cadence’s hiding place could be magically hidden, like the Chamber of Secrets.  Or anywhere on the planet, for that matter.  Why would she stay here? </p><p><em>I’ve started, so I’m going to finish</em>, she told herself, crossly.</p><p>It was hard to motivate herself all the same.  The pavilions were large wooden structures, which reminded her of the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts, full of beams and staircases, and dust.  The largest one, which stood in front of the principal <em>Choc</em> pitch, had several storerooms, but none of them were locked, and there was no trace of any occupancy.  The other pavilions were simpler, smaller structures, and were even easier to search.</p><p>She re-emerged into sunlight, and looked around, tiredly.  <em>Time for lunch</em>, she told herself.  <em>Then some sleep.</em>  But she felt strangely itchy, now. </p><p>On the other side of the lake, opposite each pavilion, were the little buildings that the <em>Choc</em> teams changed in.  Each changing room structure was small and symmetric, with one side for each team. </p><p>She plodded across the bridge, annoyed with herself.  <em>Total waste of time</em>, she grumped to herself.  <em>Could easily have waited until after lunch.</em> </p><p>The changing rooms were too small, she decided before she got there, but she checked anyway.  She found nothing in the first pair, so she crossed to the second one, which nestled beneath a large shrub that was part of the garden.  She opened the door of the nearest half and peered in – nothing…</p><p>A movement behind her.  She pulled her head back in shock.  The door to the other half of the changing room was open now, and a figure was running through the garden. </p><p>Ginny turned and ran after the figure.  It was small and female, and she felt a surge of excitement.  The girl dodged along the little paths and emerged onto a small lawn, surrounded by flowerbeds.  But there was no exit in that direction, and she had to dodge back towards Ginny, heading for an archway out onto the lawn in front of the Dining Chamber.</p><p>Ginny made a huge effort, reached out and grabbed the girl, who swung round, angrily.</p><p>It was Cadence Demoulin.  She looked just like the girl in her dreams, and the girls in the paintings, but smaller.  She was trying to fight free of Ginny, but Ginny was determined, and locked her fingers around the girl’s arm.</p><p>A bolt of green shot past them, and a decorative tree next to them erupted in flames. </p><p>“Get away from me!” screamed Cadence.  She broke free from Ginny’s grasp, turned and ran out onto the lawn, then towards the portico and the Dining Chamber.</p><p>“Wait!” called Ginny, but she was running too, following her.   Where had the spell come from?  And why?  She could see Cadence running towards the archway that led to the Quadrangle.</p><p>“Cadence!” Ginny shouted.  But the girl was running across the Quadrangle now, totally exposed to view.  Swearing under her breath, Ginny hurried after her. </p><p><em>Where did the bolt come from?</em>  As she ran, Ginny was looking up and around her.  There was no-one visible on the rooftop.  To her left, above the roof, loomed the Great Cliff.  Was the attacker up there?  There was no light that she could see…</p><p><em>There</em>.  A flash of green, halfway up the cliff.  Then she was flying backwards and crashing to the ground.  <em>This is what death feels like…</em></p><p>Only she wasn’t dead, to her puzzlement.  She was lying sprawled across the stones.  Her wand was inches away from her, and she twisted and stretched to grab it.  <em>Cotte</em>, she decided.  <em>Who else would be halfway up the Great Cliff?</em></p><p>
  <em>But he’s a friend…  Although perhaps he isn’t.</em>
</p><p>She was getting to her feet when another bolt of green hit her.  <em>This is it</em>, she told herself, but she was still moving.  She realised she had her wand in her hand, and was raising it when she saw another flash of green, high up the cliff.  She was angry now, and instead of a Stunning spell, she screamed <em>“Confringo!</em>” just as the green bolt hit her. </p><p>She was still alive, inexplicably.  And she could see that her <em>Confringo</em> spell had blasted a huge hole in the looming cliff.  There were no more green flashes now, and she scrambled to her feet. </p><p>Then she was frozen to the spot.  The Great Cliff was moving, and the ground beneath her was shaking. </p><p>“No,” she mouthed, her voice gone.</p><p>The entire cliff face was dropping, crumbling, turning to dust, with a huge roar.  Where her spell had struck, she could see a great black cavern, but, as she watched, the rock above the cavern was collapsing into it, and then into the chaos below.  There was no sign of Cotte.</p><p>She could feel the ground shaking more now, and over the top of the quadrangle roof a moving wall of rock appeared, and poured towards her.  The roof of the Quadrangle exploded in a cloud of glass, and she put her arm up to shield her eyes.  Now the walls of the Quadrangle were crumbling, disappearing, until they were a shining layer on top of the landslide rushing towards her.  Beyond, to her greater horror, she could see an entire corner of the old classroom block tilting, disintegrating, vanishing.</p><p>Her feet came free, and she turned and ran.  There was a doorway ahead of her, into the front wing of the Quadrangle.  She risked a look over her shoulder:  There was nothing left of the far side of the Quadrangle.  <em>No</em>, she told herself.  <em>Bad idea</em>.  She twisted towards the nearby archway to her right, towards the Dining Chamber, and sprinted.  The glass and rocks were already pouring across the quadrangle, with a huge roar.  <em>Am I going to make it?  </em>She was sliding across glass, and jagged pebbles were bouncing across her path, biting into her calves.  The archway she was heading for was already shrinking as the landslide filled it</p><p>She was having to run uphill, her feet skating beneath her.  She managed to breast the slope, lungs heaving painfully, and ducked under the arch, so she was slipping down the still-moving landslide.  She was on solid ground now, and could run properly, but her lungs were agony.  She made herself keep running, keep running, until the roar behind her turned to a whisper, and then silence. </p><p>Her breath was still whooping painfully, and she bent double, hands on knees until she could prise herself upright.  At last she could look up: There was no sign of anyone moving. </p><p>Cotte must have fallen when the Great Cliff went, she decided.  And he was almost certainly dead.</p><p>“What happened?” The voice behind her made her twist round in shock, and she was pointing her wand at this new threat until she realised it was a figure in a wheelchair.  Raduard de Metz, of course, but with a look of angry horror on his twisted face. </p><p>“I don’t know,” Ginny managed.  Her throat seemed to be full of glass dust, and it was painful to talk.  “Well, someone tried to attack Cadence and me from the Great Cliff, but they missed.  They kept trying and I… And I used the wrong spell, sorry.”</p><p>“Spell?” demanded de Metz.  “What spell?”</p><p>“<em>Confringo</em>,” admitted Ginny.  “I meant to use a Stunning spell, but…”</p><p>“A <em>Confringo </em>spell did all this?” asked de Metz, in angry disbelief.</p><p>“I… I think so,” she said.  “They were trying to use <em>Avada Kedavra</em>,” she added, defensively.</p><p>“So you retaliated,” said de Metz.  “You used lots of spells.”</p><p>“No! Just one.  I didn’t have time for more.”</p><p>De Metz was staring around at the destruction surrounding them, the fallen stone, the endless slopes of glass.  Then he looked back at her, his damaged expression unreadable.</p><p>“I’m… sorry,” said Ginny.  “I was just trying to protect Cadence.  And then me,” she admitted.</p><p>“Where’s Cadence?” he asked.</p><p>“I don’t know,” she replied. </p><p>He stared at her for some time.  <em>I feel pretty confused too</em>, she told him silently<em>.  </em>“You’re bleeding,” he said eventually.  “Come with me.”  He was right; her legs were stinging, and she could see lines of blood across her feet.</p><p>Ginny shook her head.  “We don’t know who did this,” she said.  “We need to find out.”  She didn’t want to accuse Cotte.  Not out loud, not until she was sure.</p><p>“They’re probably dead,” said de Metz.  “You need to tend to your injuries.”</p><p>“I need to look,” she said, turned and walked through the archway into the quadrangle.  She had to clamber up the glass slope to do so, and duck to get under the arch.  When she emerged into the quadrangle, the view was even worse.  The buildings around the quadrangle were wrecked, and - on the Great Cliff side - had disappeared beneath the landslide.  The old classroom block beyond was a ruin.  The Great Cliff was entirely unrecognisable, now a rubble-strewn slope that reached upwards towards the huge dip where the cliff had been.</p><p>Halfway up the slope was a small blemish, darker than the pale raw stone.  It was unrecognisable from this distance.</p><p>She found she couldn’t Apparate directly over to the blemish – Despite the wholesale destruction, the charms that prevented twisting were still in place.  She had to clamber over rock and glass until she was outside the charm barrier, and she could try again.</p><p>Her feet slid from under her as she stopped twisting, and she cut her palms badly as she slid down the scree, but she managed to dig her feet into the slippery surface, and then she could turn, climb and examine the dark shape further up the slope. </p><p>It was a body, covered in blood.  She didn’t want to go any nearer, but maybe they were still alive, and she needed to know…  She clambered and slithered back up the slope, using her arms to balance, digging her toes into the sliding stones.</p><p>The body was face down, and didn’t move when she reached it.  Male, she was pretty sure, so it wasn’t Cadence, by some unlucky chance.  She nerved herself to reach down and pull at the shoulder, and turn him over.  The body slid down the slope as she did so, and she slipped too, but both of them came to a halt, and she could examine him.  His face was covered in rivulets of blood, his eyes were staring, and he was dead.</p><p>It was Denis Odson.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. The Spell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It didn’t feel real at first.  How could it be Denis? </p>
<p>She only came to her senses when she realised there was something clenched in Odson’s right hand.  The hand was covered in blood too, but she wanted to know what he was holding, and she managed to pull it free.  She frowned over it; It was the size of a wand, but it was made of metal.  Why was he holding it? </p>
<p>She made herself remember; No, Denis had a willow wand, narrow and flexible, that he was rather proud of.  She probed the fabric of the collar of his jacket, and she could feel the line of his wand, in its usual place, between his shoulder blades.  She pulled at his jacket and slid her hand inside his collar.  She could feel slivers of glass cutting into her flesh, but she had to know. </p>
<p>She bared her teeth in effort and determination, and managed to pull the wand free.  She used the back of her other hand, which still had the strange piece of metal in it, to stem the blood.  It hurt, because of the flecks of glass all over her skin.</p>
<p>She Apparated back to the barrier and then plodded tiredly down to where de Metz was sitting, taking both the wand and the piece of metal.</p>
<p>De Metz resembled a statue of himself.  His wrecked face was still, his eyes enigmatic, as he stared at the items in her hands.  He lifted his glance to her face.   “What did you find?” he asked.  </p>
<p>“A body,” she said, tersely.  “It was Denis Odson.”</p>
<p>“Odson?” he asked, barely curious.</p>
<p>To avoid thought, she focussed on inessentials.  “I’d have thought he’d be buried,” she said, mechanically.  “But he was lying on top, halfway up.”</p>
<p>“Buoyancy,” said de Metz, distracted in his turn.  “Bodies often float in avalanches.”</p>
<p>“He had this in his hand,” she said, holding up the piece of metal.  “Do you recognise it?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“I think it’s a wand,” she said, uncertainly.  “It’s what he was using to cast spells.  <em>Avada Kedavra</em>,” she added.  “He was trying to kill me.  Why was he trying to kill me?  I thought he was trying to attack Cadence, but he must have seen her run off.”</p>
<p>“A metal wand?  No.  Impossible.  Perhaps he was aiming to protect her,” said de Metz.  “Perhaps he thought you were attacking her.”</p>
<p>Ginny shook her head in bafflement.  His eyes were still fixed on her.</p>
<p>“Come,” said de Metz.  “We must treat your injuries.”</p>
<p>Her hands and legs were starting to clamour for attention, so she merely nodded and followed him.  They had to step around foot-long shards of glass as well as rubble.</p>
<p>The front range of the Quadrangle was still standing, although many of the windows were missing.  Inside, the floors were covered with dust.  She plodded after de Metz, up the ramp, instead of the stairs she normally used, into the Senate Room and then the Headmaster’s study.</p>
<p>“Let me see these wands,” he said shortly.  “Or whatever they are.”  She handed over Odson’s wand and the metal rod, and he examined them in the light from the window.  “Now yours,” he said.</p>
<p>“My wand?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Ginny was so shocked and ashamed of what her wand had done that she didn’t argue, and passed it to de Metz, who took it with an angry grimace.  <em>Is it faulty?</em> she wondered.  <em>What’s going to happen now?</em></p>
<p>De Metz sighed and shook his head.  He didn’t return the wands to her, but dropped them on his desk.  “I have expertise with glass injuries,” he said.  “You will have to remove your trousers, I regret.”  He gave a twisted smile.  “You are perfectly safe, of course.  You can easily outrun me.”  Another strangeness: de Metz never normally made light remarks of any kind.</p>
<p>Still, it was embarrassing to kick off her shoes and undo her jeans in his presence, then slide them down her legs, and she had to stifle the urge to swear as jagged pieces of glass cut into her.  </p>
<p>Her legs looked considerably worse now.  De Metz flicked his wand, and she flinched with pain and cried out, but when she looked down the glass had gone.  Blood welled from several of her wounds.</p>
<p>De Metz had turned away, and was waving his wand at a drawer in his desk.  Two bottles lifted out of the drawer and dropped onto the desk in front of him.  “I am sorry,” he said, gesturing to the smaller one.  “You will need to apply dittany yourself.  I can’t reach.”</p>
<p>And that was the first time Ginny had ever heard him refer to his disabilities.  She found she couldn’t meet his eyes.  She took the bottle from him, along with the cloth that dropped out of the air onto the desk, and dabbed them gingerly on each cut in turn.  When she had finished, her legs seemed on fire, but she made herself dab more dittany on the equally painful wounds on her hands and fingers.</p>
<p>“This will stop the pain,” said de Metz, reaching out with his twisted fingers to the other bottle.  “Drink.” </p>
<p>She picked it up, unsure.  The bottle was unlabelled, and when she removed the top and sniffed it, it smelled rank - acrid – and she recoiled.</p>
<p>He laughed, shortly, and gestured for her to pass the bottle back.  She did so, willingly, but then to her surprise he put the bottle to his lips and drank, lengthily.  Then he handed the bottle back to her.  “It helps,” he said.  “Drink.”</p>
<p>She could see no polite way of refusing, so she wiped the bottle top as subtly as she could on her sleeve and drank. </p>
<p>“More,” he said.</p>
<p>Unwillingly she took another mouthful and swallowed, and he nodded.  “Please sit,” he said.  “It will not take long.”  He wheeled himself behind his desk, and gestured to the chair on the other side of it.  She sat, gingerly, but the dittany, or the other potion, had dealt with the pain now, and she could sit reasonably comfortably.</p>
<p>“I will distract you with a story,” he said then.  “A true story.  I think it will interest you.”</p>
<p>She looked as politely interested as she could manage.  What she really wanted now was a bath, and bed. Or maybe just bed.  She was starting to feel rather shaky.</p>
<p>“This story begins many years in the past,” began de Metz.  “Over sixty years ago.  A young girl named Delphine Bonnacord started at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”</p>
<p>“Bonnacord?” Ginny asked in surprise.  “At Hogwarts?” </p>
<p>“Bonnacord,” confirmed de Metz.  “Her father was French, but her mother was English, and she wished her daughter to attend an English school.  Delphine hated it, I understand.  She did not like the remoteness, or the food, or the other pupils.  She had no friends.  Not at first.”</p>
<p>Ginny could feel her legs tingling strangely.  Dittany didn’t do that, so it had to be the other potion.</p>
<p>“She made a friend eventually,” continued de Metz.  “A boy as lonely as her, a very talented pupil, of unlimited potential.  She was drawn to him, because of that, and he was drawn to her, because of her great beauty, that grew as she did.  Others noticed her then, of course, but she ignored them.  She was committed to her young friend.  He became friends with many others, as they recognised in their turn what she saw in him.  But she was entirely devoted to him.” </p>
<p>He sighed, unfathomably.  “As he grew older, he became increasingly charismatic.  He attracted many.  But her beauty kept him fascinated in her.  He became obsessed, in fact.  With her.  And that, somehow, became an obsession with immortality.  He wanted her to remain as she was, for ever.  He began experimenting, and as one of the greatest potioneers of his age, he managed to produce a unique concoction.  He tried it out on short-lived animals, and he became so convinced that he had succeeded that he… that he…”</p>
<p>“Took the potion?” Ginny asked.  It was difficult to move her legs now.  The recovering wounds must be stiffening.</p>
<p>De Metz shook his head.  “No.  He still wasn’t sure, you see.  No.  Instead, he gave it to Delphine.”</p>
<p>Ginny was shocked.  “To <em>her</em>?  When he hadn’t tried it out himself?”</p>
<p>De Metz waved a hand, dismissively.  “He was a great wizard.  The potion worked exactly as he had designed it.  Delphine Bonnacord was sixteen when she took the potion.  And from that day on, she never aged.”</p>
<p>“Never?  She was immortal?”</p>
<p>De Metz shook his head once more, slowly.  “No.  There is an important difference between never ageing, and true immortality.  The potion stopped her from growing older.  But she was still vulnerable to death.  A disease, an accident, a knife, would still rob her of her life.  Because of that, the wizard, her lover, turned away from the potion he had given her.  And he turned away from her.  He decided to look elsewhere.  He did not want eternal youth.  He wanted immortality.  And he spent the rest of his life seeking it!”</p>
<p>“Wait,” said Ginny, disturbed now.  “This is… This is <em>Tom Riddle</em> you’re talking about?  <em>Lord Voldemort</em>?”  She tried to move in her chair, but couldn’t.  <em>What’s happening to me?</em></p>
<p>De Metz gave a strange half-nod.  “The Hidden Duke.  He had what he wanted – Delphine Bonnacord would remain always youthful, as beautiful as she was then.”</p>
<p>“But… what happened to her?” she demanded.  “Did she die of something?”</p>
<p>“No,” said de Metz.  He was slumped in his chair now, from tiredness, she guessed.  She felt equally exhausted.  “She lived.  She lives.  But what was she to do?  If it became obvious what she was, her life would be in danger.  Nobody wants another to be ageless.  Their envy would be unbearable.  She had to protect herself.  She had to hide.  Hide, where she would be safe.”</p>
<p>“Safe where?”  <em>Nowhere’s that safe</em>.  She felt a great tiredness now.</p>
<p>De Metz shrugged.  “She could have hidden anywhere, perhaps.  But she was from a wealthy family.  She enjoyed the comforts and privileges of that wealth.  So she hid within that family.”</p>
<p>“<em>Within</em>?  What does that mean?”</p>
<p>“It means… It means that Delphine Bonnacord could not remain as Delphine.  She had to disappear – to die young, so it appeared – and then re-emerge as a new member of the same family.  It was a large and wealthy family, wealthy enough to buy silence, and cooperation, so this was not impossible.  She did not need to go to school by now, of course, but I understand she found herself very lonely without teenage friends around her.  Everyone still treated her as a child, you see.  So she returned to school, pretending to be younger than her years, and left after six or seven years, unchanged, yet unsuspected.”</p>
<p>“But <em>how</em>…?  They would recognise her!  The teachers would recognise her!”</p>
<p>“Certainly.  So Delphine Bonnacord left Hogwarts at seventeen, died tragically young – but then her young cousin, Honore Bonnacord, arrived a few years later at Beauxbatons, for an entire school career.  And some years after that, Tempeste began at Durmstrang, where she spent the next seven or so years, then hid once more.  Now Genevieve Plantagenet appears, strangely like her recently dead cousin, and enrols at Hogwarts once more, but in a different house…”  De Metz sighed, in exhaustion.</p>
<p>“So where is she now?” asked Ginny, fascinated.</p>
<p>“Here,” said de Metz.  “She has returned here, now that the school’s memory has entirely forgotten Honore Bonnacord.  As Cadence Demoulin.”</p>
<p>“As <em>Cadence</em>?  <em>Cadence</em> is Delphine Bonnacord?”</p>
<p>“And she has never changed.  Never, in all these years.”  De Metz’s hand was shaking as he flicked his wand.  A drawer opened, and a photograph flew from it, landing on the desk in front of her.  It was old and faded, the colours brown and sepia.  Ginny recognised the format – Each Beauxbatons family had a photograph taken each year, and hung it proudly in their meeting room. </p>
<p>There were a dozen or more pupils in the photograph, and a handful of staff, but Ginny’s eyes were drawn immediately to one girl, sitting hunched up near the front, her expression uncertain, her hair strangely styled, but without doubt it was Cadence Demoulin.  Delphine Bonnacord…</p>
<p>De Metz raised a tired finger.  “I removed that photograph from the house wall myself.  Delphine wanted it destroyed, but I kept it.  She doesn’t know I have it; If she did, she would consider it treason, but it is the reverse.  I keep it out of faith, out of devotion.  Devotion to Delphine Bonnacord, the Hidden Duchess.  And dedication and faithfulness to the Hidden Duke.”</p>
<p>“<em>The Hidden Duke</em>?” gasped Ginny.  It was hard to breathe now.  “<em>You</em>?”</p>
<p>De Metz wasn’t looking at her.  He was slumped in his wheelchair, looking very tired now.  “It is many years since… Since the Hidden Duke awarded me almost his highest honour.  The many medals my country have given me mean nothing, when stood against being a Hidden Knight.”</p>
<p>Ginny tried to stand then, to go over to him, to demand the truth from him, but she couldn’t move.</p>
<p>“What… What have you done?” she gasped.</p>
<p>“We will die together,” said de Metz.  “This is the last service I can render to Delphine Bonnacord.  When I saw… When I saw that painting of you, as Joan of Arc, I realised.  It was entirely clear.  I saw you were a witch of huge power.  And thus an important enemy of the Hidden Duchess.  <em>She</em> barely realises what you are.  She denies it, she treats you like a toy.”  His gaze on her was dispassionate.  “And a lover, but I could see that the greatest service I could provide would be to kill you.  The enemy she doesn’t perceive.”</p>
<p>“What have you done?” Ginny demanded with difficulty.  Her mouth was somebody else’s, at another’s command.</p>
<p>There was tired triumph in his eyes.  “A noble death,” he said.  “One that Socrates picked.  He chose hemlock.  He chose…”  Suddenly his head slumped, and he seemed to fold in on himself.</p>
<p>“Raduard!” she shouted.  But what was the point in that?  “Help!” she shouted.  <em>But there’s nobody here…</em></p>
<p>She couldn’t move.  She couldn’t reach her wand, sitting in plain sight in front of her. </p>
<p>“<em>Accio bezoar</em>!” she tried, but nothing happened.  “<em>Accio bezoar</em>!”  Was her magic failing?  Or was there no bezoar anywhere near?  Perhaps de Metz made sure, before he poisoned her, that there was no help to be had.</p>
<p>Her lips would barely move now.  She screamed the spell silently, and still nothing happened.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m not going to let this happen…</em>
</p>
<p>She squeezed her eyes shut – even that was a huge effort – and thought about Gosse, in his studio.  He’d be there now, wouldn’t he?  Painting something.  Someone.  His mother.  Undine, perhaps.  Anyone…</p>
<p>Something seemed to be moving down her body.  <em>My life</em>, she told herself.  <em>Slipping away from me.  </em>She could feel herself folding in on herself.  Her hands were fists, her jaw locked.</p>
<p>
  <em>Determination, Destination, Decision…</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Determination, Destination, Decision…</em>
</p>
<p>A crack!  <em>Did I make it?</em>  She tried to speak, but couldn’t.  She felt such sorrow then.  <em>I needed to tell Gosse…</em></p>
<p>Something was moving, next to her.  Was it Gosse?  It was a huge effort to use her eyes now.  Something on her shoulder.  Not Gosse’s hand, not soft enough for that… </p>
<p>Without warning, her shoulder was gripped, puncturing her, hurting her.  <em>Is this what death feels like? </em></p>
<p>She was twisting, and it hurt more.  <em>It doesn’t matter</em>, she told herself.  <em>It’s too late now.</em></p>
<p>A voice she recognised, calling out, calling her name.  Another twist, and there were two voices.</p>
<p>
  <em>You need to tell them what it is.  Hemlock.  Hemlock…</em>
</p>
<p>Fingers on her mouth… Something hard and round being pushed between her teeth. </p>
<p>Words…  “Swallow, Ginny.  Swallow… You must swallow…”</p>
<p>A huge effort, with a mouth that was no longer hers…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her eyes opened, and she was staring at something red.  That had to mean something, didn’t it?  And there was something soft under her fingers.  That meant something else, she was sure of it.</p>
<p>“Ginny?”  A disembodied voice.</p>
<p>She remembered how to turn her head, and there was a face, looking down at her.  Glasses.  Hair tied back.  Thin, angry features.  No, not angry.</p>
<p>“You had us very worried there,” said the face.  “You were as far gone as it’s possible to be…  So what was it?  Do you know?”</p>
<p>“If she’d known,” said another voice, another face.  “She wouldn’t have taken it!”</p>
<p>“Hemlock,” croaked Ginny, able to talk at last. </p>
<p>“<em>Muggle </em>poison?” said the other face, in surprise.  “Where did that come from?”</p>
<p> “de Metz,” Ginny said eventually.  “Raduard… de Metz.”</p>
<p>“Why did he give you that?” demanded the first voice.  She had a name now:  Professor McGonagall.  “Why did you take it?”</p>
<p>“Trick,” Ginny managed.  “He was… protecting… the Hidden Duchess.”</p>
<p>“<em>Who</em>?”</p>
<p>The faces were figures now, and she saw one lay a hand on the other’s arm.  “We should wait,” one said.  “She needs time…  Welcome back, Ginny.  And don’t forget to thank Fawkes!  We still don’t know how he brought you here…”</p>
<p>She was in a bed, Ginny realised, as they stepped away from her.  More strangely, in the Hogwarts Infirmary.  <em>What am I doing here?</em></p>
<p>On the end of the bed, claws comfortably around the metal bar of the foot of the bed, was a large red bird.  A phoenix…</p>
<p>“Fawkes…” she managed to say.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She could almost feel the bezoar draining the poison from her, and, as soon as she could, she was pushing herself upright and out of bed.</p>
<p>“You should rest, Ginny,” said McGonagall, watching her cautious movements.  “Although ye realise we’re breaking the law by harbouring you.”</p>
<p>“I need to get back,” said Ginny.  “I am grateful, but…”</p>
<p>But she’d left a wrecked school, with a dead headmaster, and a dead Potions teacher. </p>
<p>“Fawkes…” she said, unsure yet hopeful.  He was still sitting on the end of her bed, his golden gaze on her.  “I need to get back,” she said to him, stupidly, but he was spreading his wings once more, floating up into the air, descending onto her shoulder.  His claws were digging into her, painfully, reassuringly.  Then the pain was much greater, and she was twisting, and she was elsewhere.</p>
<p>Fawkes had returned her to de Metz’s study.  Its owner was still there, crumpled in his wheelchair.  He looked very small now – somehow a victim, not a murderer.  She stepped forward and gathered up the three wands – Odson’s, the metal wand, and her own - as Fawkes continued to balance on her left shoulder.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Fawkes,” she said awkwardly.  His claws twitched, and with another shooting pain and a crack, he had gone.</p>
<p>She turned away from Raduard de Metz and left his office.</p>
<p>The school was eerily silent.  And still wrecked.  Denis Odson still lay upon the slope where the cliff had fallen.  But no-one else was here.  The ruined, empty school slept under the hot sun. </p>
<p>She still had three wands in her hand, and she sorted through them.  She pocketed the other sticks, and studied her own wand, still new and strange to her after these few months.  Beatrix’s design, Undine’s embellishments.  Fawke’s core, of course.  And the holly, chosen to suppress her magic.</p>
<p>“Well, so much for tamping things down,” she told it. </p>
<p>Although…</p>
<p>Her Phoenix wand made easy work of lifting Denis’s body, and wafting it down to where she stood.  She accompanied his body to the Infirmary, and she covered him and left him in a bed there.  Then she went outside once more, and stood outside the Quadrangle, gazing at the chaos she had caused.</p>
<p><em>No-one will forgive this</em>, she said to herself.  <em>A dead headmaster and Potions master, possibly, but not the end of a school.</em></p>
<p><em>There’s no way this is going to work</em>, she told herself.  But she raised her wand anyway.</p>
<p>“<em>Re</em>…”  <em>No, this is silly…  </em></p>
<p><em>“Reparo!” </em>she shouted.</p>
<p>Nothing… until something moved behind her.  She whipped round.  Some of the broken glass was sliding across the rubble.  Then more, then all…  The spill of rubble and glass was moving, purposefully, back, leaving the stone paving uncovered, pristine. </p>
<p>She hurried after the sliding rubble, through the arch into the Quadrangle.</p>
<p>The muttering sound became a rumble, and a roar.  The rocks that had formed the cliff were gathering, uncovering the ruins of the wide Quadrangle.  Then in a single movement, like the heft of a Giant’s arm, the mountain of fallen rocks was lifting into the air, and the earth shook as they reformed into a single, solid cliff face. </p>
<p>The whisper of sliding glass fragments changed then, to a jangling sound, and as she watched the walls of the Quadrangle grew in front of her.  Beyond them, huge glass blocks were hurling themselves up the walls of the old classroom block until the fortress returned to its original proud shape.  In a cloud of white, the Quadrangle roof reappeared, and finally the white dust disappeared, with a sound like a sharp breath, and the buildings were complete again, staring down at her, regal, unblemished, perfect.</p>
<p>“Welcome back,” she said, feeling slightly stupid.</p>
<p>She lifted her wand and brought it to her eyes, rotating it so the sunlight caught the planes and engravings.  <em>If it can do that</em>, she asked herself, shaken, <em>what else can it do?</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. The Captive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny was still recovering from the effects of the hemlock when the entire school returned.  She had planned on being in the staffroom as they arrived, but, as it turned out, the room was full of chattering staff when she entered from one of her frequent visits to the staff toilets.  They ignored her at first, barely acknowledging her with a wave, and she waited for an opportunity to speak.</p><p>Mr Lesassier was in full flood.  “I am highly displeased,” he proclaimed, theatrically.  “I take the merest of vacations, and my sister elects to fall sick, and I find myself expected to babysit her noisome children.  I, the respected vanguard against the Dark Powers, expected to cook, and listen to yelling small children!  And where is her husband?  <em>Hmm</em>?  He is ill, too!  What a strange coincidence befalls me!”</p><p>“Well, I enjoyed the break,” admitted Madame Desprez.  “I saw an excellent <em>Choc</em> match in Nantes.  The home team was wonderfully aggressive, and the weather was excellent!”</p><p>“I’m glad to return, too,” admitted Madame Pummeroy.  “I will just call on the Headmaster, and then I can take the weight off my feet!”</p><p>“I’m afraid you can’t…” began Ginny.</p><p>“Has anyone seen Odson?” Mr Cotte inquired, waspishly.  The Arithmancy teacher seemed particularly annoyed.  “He borrowed my broom from me, and I notice it still hasn’t been returned!”</p><p>“You won’t be able to…” Ginny tried.</p><p>“Madame Pummeroy,” said Mr Lesassier.  “When you see the headmaster, please ensure…”</p><p>“YOU CAN’T!” Ginny shouted, in desperation.</p><p>There was a sudden silence, and all eyes turned to Ginny, and she could feel her face heating.</p><p>“What is this?” demanded Lesassier.  “Are you Raduard’s mouthpiece as well now?”</p><p>“He’s not…  He’s…  He’s… dead,” Ginny managed to say. </p><p>“<em>What?</em>” said Lesassier.</p><p>“He can’t be!” said Madame Pummeroy, in disbelief.  “I only saw him…”</p><p>“What happened?” demanded Madame Desprez.</p><p>“He… He… killed himself,” said Ginny.  “And Denis… Denis Odson is dead too.  I…”</p><p>“<em>Odson?  </em>Impossible,” said Mr Cotte, curtly.  “What is this nonsense?”</p><p>“Please go and look, if you don’t believe me,” said Ginny, unhappily.  “The Headmaster is in his study, and Mr Odson is in the Infirmary.”</p><p>“The Infirmary?” put in Madame Pummeroy.  “Is this a disease?”</p><p>“No, he… He fell…” managed Ginny.</p><p>“Wait,” said Lesassier.  He strode out of the room. </p><p>“What happened?” asked Madame Desprez.  From her shocked expression and her words, it seemed that she at least was beginning to believe Ginny.</p><p>“The Headmaster… poisoned himself,” said Ginny, uncertainly.  “With hemlock.”</p><p>“No!” shrieked Madame Pummeroy.  “Impossible!”</p><p>“Because of Denis?” asked Madame Desprez in mystification.</p><p>“No…” said Ginny.  “Yes…”</p><p>“Which is it?” demanded Mr Cotte.</p><p>“I have notified the Auror Department,” said Ginny.  Not true: She had tried to reach Apolline, and failed, and had left a message with Gabrielle, and heard nothing since.</p><p>“Did you see this?” demanded Cotte.</p><p>“Yes…”</p><p>“Describe it,” Cotte insisted.</p><p>“I’d prefer to wait until the Aurors reach here,” Ginny said fearfully.  “I don’t really know what happened.”  A lie, and probably too little, too late.</p><p>“You saw it,” insisted Cotte.  “What did you see?”</p><p>“Denis fell,” Ginny said loudly.  “He was… He was climbing the cliff behind the Quadrangle…”</p><p>“The Great Cliff?”</p><p>“…Yes…  And he fell…”</p><p>“He did not <em>save</em> himself?”</p><p>“No…  He just fell.”</p><p>“Unbelievable,” said Cotte, angrily. </p><p>Lesassier was back.  He was out of breath, as if he had run the whole way from the Infirmary.  He looked pale, his eyes staring.  He nodded.  Madame Pummeroy let out a wail of despair.</p><p>“It’s true,” said Lesassier.  “Odson’s bones are broken.  And it’s true about the Headmaster.  He is dead, but I don’t know why.”</p><p>“He took hemlock,” said Ginny, in desperation.  “He told me… after he’d taken it.  Before he died.  Like Soc…  Like Soc…”</p><p>“Like Socrates,” said Madame Desprez, looking at Ginny in shock. </p><p>“Yes,” said Ginny.  “I think so.”</p><p>“Why?” demanded Lesassier.  “Why did he take it?  Did you make him?”</p><p>“No!” Ginny cried.  “No!  It was his idea!  He tried to get me to take it as well…”</p><p>“<em>What?  </em>Why…?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” she said.  “He was very strange…”  Would that be enough?</p><p>“You have a lot of explaining to do, young woman!” said Madame Pummeroy.</p><p>“Explaining what?” asked a voice behind Ginny.  She turned, and was horrified to see a face she recognised:  The Auror who had arrested her, along with Draco and Lavender, and stuck them in a cage, and let his men leer at their captives’ lack of clothes. </p><p>From his expression now, he hadn’t expected to find her here, and squinted at her.  Did he recognise her? </p><p>And what was his name?</p><p>“Who are you?” demanded Lesassier.</p><p>“The name’s Criste,” said the Auror.  “Auror’s office.  Who are <em>you</em>?”</p><p>Lesassier introduced himself, then the rest of the staff, and finally Ginny.</p><p>Criste screwed his eyes up distrustfully when he heard her name.  “I know you,” he said.   “Red hair…” But she could see he wasn’t sure.</p><p>“I was here when it happened,” she said, uncertainly.</p><p>“I’ll need to talk to you,” he said, nodding, accepting this.  “Who’s in charge here?”</p><p>“No-one!” said Madame Pummeroy.  “The Headmaster’s dead!”</p><p>“So I’ve heard,” said Criste, shortly.  “Doesn’t he have a deputy?”</p><p>“No!  Yes,” said Pummeroy.  “Yes, I am his deputy, but only for timetabling, staff appraisals, purely that.”</p><p>“Huh,” said Criste.  His eyes turned to Ginny.  “Let’s see these bodies, then,” he said.</p><p>Ginny led him out of the room, which was now full of recriminations and arguments.  She took him to the Headmaster’s office first, and then over to the Infirmary.</p><p>“And you put him here?” asked Criste, looking down at the body.  “Why did you move him?”</p><p>“Because… Because…”</p><p>“Because you wanted to remove the evidence,” said Criste.  “Because you killed both of them.”</p><p>“No!  I didn’t!”</p><p>“So what did happen?”</p><p>She tried to explain.  To her surprise, despite her gabbled and poorly-ordered explanation, Criste seemed to absorb her narrative.</p><p>“So why aren’t you dead, then?” he asked her disbelievingly, when she’d stuttered to a close.  “You were poisoned.”</p><p>“I… I…”  Should she try and explain about Fawkes?  She didn’t understand herself how he’d rescued her.</p><p>“Come on, girly,” he said then.  “Not a likely story, is it?  And where’s the evidence of this rock fall, eh?  And this place wrecked?”</p><p>“I repaired it…”</p><p>“So you said.  Think I was born stupid?  Convenient, wasn’t it, that there weren’t any other witnesses?”</p><p>“There was the girl…  Cadence Demoulin…”</p><p>“Who ran off before it all happened.  So you said.  And you don’t know where she is.”</p><p>“No…”</p><p>“You didn’t kill her too?”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>But instead of interrogating her further, he produced his wand and waved it.  Something blackly metallic flicked from his pocket, landed on her left wrist and locked around it.  “That’ll stop you leaving the school,” he said.  Another wand flick levitated Odson’s body off the bed.  Ginny winced at that, and he turned his head to examine her.  “You don’t have to look,” he said.  “I’ll take this one, and the other, and then I’ll be back.  Next time, girly, I want to hear the truth.  All of it.”</p><p> </p><p>Ginny was tempted to go hide in her room as soon as he’d left, but decided the dragon’s toenails needed to be cut.  She re-entered the staffroom with trepidation, her right hand nervously covering the bracelet on her left wrist.  The discussion – argument – was still going strong, but they stopped to stare at her when she entered.</p><p>“The Auror had to go,” she said.</p><p>“We expected a report from him,” said Lesassier, crossly. </p><p>“He’s still investigating,” said Ginny, unhappily.</p><p>“And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?” demanded Lesassier. </p><p>“Business as usual,” said Ginny.  “I suppose.”</p><p>“With no Headmaster?” queried Cotte.  “And what about Potions?”</p><p>“Mr Lesassier, you are skilled with Potions,” suggested Madame Desprez.  “Perhaps you could step into the breech?”</p><p>“Certainly not,” said Lesassier, offended.  “I have my own responsibilities!  These are dangerous times!  And this is not the occasion to shirk Defence lessons!  Surely, Arithmancy lessons should take second place to Potions, Mr Cotte.  And perhaps you would be so kind as to take on the Headmaster’s rôle as well.  I have often heard you speak slightingly of previous holders of the position!”</p><p>Cotte seemed to grow upwards, menacingly.  “Perhaps if you think you can dismiss Arithmancy, you would be so kind as to take on the teaching of <em>my</em> subject!  Let us hear you speak from a position of authority for once!”</p><p>“I meant no insult,” said Lesassier, colouring.  “I apologise if it appeared so.  Well, Madame Pummeroy can surely lead the school…”</p><p>“Certainly not!” said that lady, crossly.  “And <em>I</em> am not the one with a Time Shifter here!”</p><p>Every eye in the room turned to Ginny.</p><p>“What?” she exclaimed.  “No.  No way…  Look…  OK, I’ll take a look at Potions.  If I really, really have to!  No, wait, what am I saying?  Someone else can have the Time Shifter…  And I could be arrested at any minute!”  She hadn’t meant to say that.</p><p>“And change our Humanities teacher again?” said Cotte, with a frown.  “That would be a huge disruption for the pupils.  And I cannot see a volunteer for that!”</p><p>“Look, can’t the head decide?” pleaded Ginny.  “As soon as we have one?”</p><p>“And in the meantime?” demanded Pummeroy.  “What happens until then?  No, that is impossible.  The strong current that is this school must flow unchecked!”</p><p>“I agree,” said Madame Desprez. </p><p>“So, what happens now?” asked Ginny, perplexed.</p><p>“Well, Miss Duchaine,” said Cotte, “You must assume your new responsibilities as soon as possible.  That in turn will allow us to discharge our duties, to the best of our abilities.  I welcome you as our temporary Potions teacher.  And our interim Headmistress.  And I trust your earliest attention will be brought to notifying the Senate and seeking a permanent replacement for yourself in both those rôles.”</p><p>“But…”  <em>But</em> <em>I’m about to be arrested for murder…  </em>“Doesn’t <em>anyone </em>here want to be Head?” pleaded Ginny. </p><p>Her eyes met the others’; Every head shook, with decision.</p><p>“Certainly not,” said Cotte.  “We left such vainglorious ambition behind many years ago.  You are the youngest, with the greatest stamina.  You are surely the best choice.”</p><p> </p><p>She expected Criste back any minute, but, as the hours passed, she had to yield to the urgings of the staff and get to work.</p><p>They expected her to use the Headmaster’s study, and she felt a complete fraud doing so.  When she walked along the Senate Room and into the study, she was surprised to see that an ornate wooden chair had appeared behind the desk; Previously, there had been an empty space there, where de Metz’s wheelchair had stood.  The chair was massive, but comfortable, and swivelled easily as she examined the contents of the desk.</p><p>There were no signs of de Metz’s hidden past.  Nor any personal items that she could recognise, apart from a couple of bottles of potion.  Not hemlock; she decided they were medicine for his various ailments, but she threw them out anyway.</p><p>There were no cupboards in the room, as McGonagall’s sported.  Instead, there were paintings on the glass walls – horses, stags and landscapes, mostly – because the desk magically contained everything needed to run the school:  Timetables, in Madame Pummeroy’s tidy script.  Pupil records.  Discipline records.  Staff records, salaries, house lists, lists of equipment.  Bank statements.  Exam statistics.  Maintenance records.  Awards and scholarships.  Correspondence - with the Ministry, with potential parents, with clothing manufacturers, potion ingredient suppliers – she recognised Mr Delacour’s name with a smile – and broom makers.  Each section seemed impossibly thin until she touched it, whereupon it swelled unnervingly, squeezing the other sections to nothing, so she could examine its contents.</p><p>She read everything she could, her Time Shifter on the desk beside her, her fingers returning to it constantly, to give herself more time.</p><p><em>None of this matters</em>, she told herself repeatedly.  <em>Any second now Criste will be back here to arrest me.</em></p><p> </p><p>Rather nervously, she went to visit the house-elves in their warren.  They lived in a vast honeycomb of caves in the cliffs behind the Dining Chamber, and Ginny was terrified that some stay-at-home house-elves must have been crushed in the collapse.  But they greeted her with their usual beaming smiles, assured her no-one had been hurt, and proudly showed her around the caves, to prove they were still intact.  Protected by elf magic, according to Cliny, the head house-elf. </p><p>“Apart from a little dust!” she said proudly.  “And we are experts with dust!”</p><p>Ginny found it strange that the French house-elves spoke almost perfect French, and not the fractured language that their British compatriots produced.  Was French that much easier than English?</p><p>“I’m sorry about the dust,” said Ginny, contritely, but Cliny waved the apology away, and Ginny left the warren carrying some unexpected gifts: Little boxes that Cliny told her were instant meals.  “All you have to do is heat them with your wand!” she said.  “We don’t like to see you eating badly, Acting Headmistress!”</p><p> </p><p>Potions was a nightmare; Denis Odson’s notes were scrappy and illegible, and her own Potions experience was a terrifyingly distant memory now.  Her salvation, after much stress and misery, was the hugely lucky discovery that Raduard de Metz had in the distant past taught Potions, and still had his notes in his desk.  <em>His</em> notes were refreshingly clear, and ordered, and complete enough to merely learn, and recite. </p><p>Even so, she balked at the idea of getting out a cauldron, and collecting ingredients, and trying to create a potion.  Even the simplest recipe could go horribly wrong.  So: <em>Never create a potion in class</em>. She was buoyed by the realisation that she had never yet seen a Potions master mix a brew in the presence of a pupil.  With that simple rule in place, all became possible, and if an entire class failed to produce the required potion by the end of the lesson, she could harden her heart, demand they return after lessons finished, and stay until they had produced the required result.</p><p>Running a school, strangely enough, she found refreshingly easy.  She could call on her experience as Head Girl for managing the pupils – and the staff as well, as she found they were curiously susceptible to a firm voice and her determination not to be swayed by their tantrums. </p><p>Her first meeting with the school monitors was eerily reminiscent of her prefect meetings at Hogwarts.  All the monitors were final-year students, and the youngest was barely a year different in age to Ginny.  Despite this, it would have been easy to believe they were all her seniors by several years, from their maturity and self-possession. </p><p>Coraline was there, of course: She gave Ginny a cool smile but didn’t say much.  Nor did the others, in fact, apart from the Head Monitor.  His name was Claude Rambin, a blocky, tousle-haired yet urbane young man from her Advanced year history class, and even his utterings were restricted to crisp questions and brief answers.  Only one lithe and dark-haired young man – Jean-Pierre Morillot, whom she taught music – treated her less like a headmistress and more like a contemporary:  He lounged in his chair, and eyed her with a challenging smile.  Ginny eventually realised that one of the girl monitors – Virginie Taskin, another historian – was glaring at Jean-Pierre, so Ginny merely had to raise her eyebrows at Jean-Pierre and then look significantly at Virginie.  Jean-Pierre’s smile suddenly vanished in annoyance, to Ginny’s entertainment.</p><p>De Metz, it appeared, had run the school on the whim of the moment, which made things easier in some ways; Ginny managed to unearth elderly documented procedures on most things, but these were apparently news to staff and pupils alike.  So it was surprisingly easy to fulfil, or even surpass, the expectations of the entire school, in her panicked and Time Shifter-fuelled efforts.  And the fact that she’d climbed the Time-Shifter summit before, admittedly with a smaller workload, encouraged her to turn herself into a hermit as she repeated each hour as many times as she needed. </p><p><em>How long will it be</em>, she wondered, <em>before I’m older than all the other teachers?</em></p><p> </p><p>The Chairman of the Senate came to see her.  His name was Michel Gouin.  He was an elderly, hewn-faced wizard who must have resembled Raduard de Metz before the latter suffered his injuries. Ginny hoped he didn’t share his allegiances.  He congratulated her, formally, on her new rôle.</p><p>“It wasn’t my idea,” she said defensively.  “The teachers felt it was important that the school had a new head as soon as possible.”</p><p>Gouin seemed unconcerned.  “Madame Pummeroy sent me a message explaining your appointment,” he said.  “You seem a little young.”</p><p>Ginny didn’t know how to answer that.</p><p>“But if the staff are prepared to support you, and the parents…”  Gouin paused.  “Well, it is never possible to please them.  And as the school appears to be working as normal, I prefer not to interfere.  No, my job is to soothe the rest of the Senate, and the Ministry.”  He sat forward in his chair, earnestly.  “Please attend:  If any member of the Ministry <em>or </em>the Senate approaches you directly, refer them to me.  It is not their job to run this school.  It is yours.”</p><p>“OK,” said Ginny, nervously.</p><p>“Now, is there anything you need from me?” Gouin inquired.</p><p>“Er…” said Ginny.  “Well, there is one thing…”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“There are lots of rumours…” Ginny began.  “About the deaths of the Headmaster and Denis Odson.”</p><p>Gouin fixed her with a stare.  “Accurate ones?”</p><p>“No,” said Ginny, with a gulp.</p><p>“Good.  I have already spoken with the Auror’s office.  They have informed me of your statement.  I also understand that they have a witness of what occurred that day.”</p><p>“A <em>witness</em>?” echoed Ginny, nervously.  “Who?”  <em>Cadence Demoulin, possibly?</em>  The fingers of her right hand went automatically to the bracelet on her left wrist. </p><p>“I am not at liberty to say,” said Gouin, loftily.  “But I will urge them to make a statement of their findings to date.  For public consumption.”</p><p>“Oh,” said Ginny, unsure.  “Thank you.”</p><p>“Anything else?”</p><p>She looked him in the eye, carefully.  “Cadence Demoulin,” she said.</p><p>He gazed back at her, steadily.  “What about her?”</p><p>“She hasn’t been seen since… Since the day the Headmaster died.  And there are rumours about that as well.”</p><p>There had been some wild theories about her disappearance around the school – She had been abducted, Denis Odson wasn’t actually dead, but had eloped with her, that she’d jumped from the weir – and Ginny was expected to both refute these theories and provide evidence of her wellbeing. </p><p>“I understand,” said Gouin.  “Leave that with me as well.”</p><p> </p><p>An owl arrived the same day, from Baron Bonnacord himself, saying that Cadence had withdrawn from the school, and would not be returning, and the following morning a hugely official Eagle Owl appeared, bearing a report into the deaths of Raduard de Metz (took his own life, unfairly blaming himself for the death of Denis Odson) and Odson himself (climbing accident).  Ginny soberly read these reports out to the school, against the advice of Madame Pummeroy, but everyone seemed to accept them.</p><p> </p><p>She expected constant dissatisfaction from all sides at her running of the school – pupils, monitors, teachers, the Senate, parents – but everyone seemed to shrug and let her get on with it.  True, things went horribly wrong sometimes, but with the Time Shifter in her pocket she could fix any problem, and if occasionally her office was full of unhappy individuals, they invariably left her room unable to remember why they’d gone there in the first place.</p><p>She still had her entire Humanities workload to deal with, of course, but sometimes that was merely tedium to be endured, and often a light relief.  Her life-study pupils grew used to waking her at the end of each modelling session, and her skills at winging it grew, so she could often generate an entire lesson from a few seconds thought.  The pupils seemed to accept her, and even the teachers were happy to come to her with problems to solve - as long as she managed to solve them of course.</p><p>Some unknown wit entertained the school by adding a small label – in appearance identical to all the other labels in the Senate Room - to her revealing portrait there.  <em>Madame Ameline Duchaine</em>, it read.  <em>Acting</em> <em>Headmistress </em>and the current year.  She would have suspected the now-dead Denis Odson of being the author of this, and could never decide who the perpetrator was.</p><p>It went further than that:  Passing through the Senate Room one day, her eyes out of habit flicked briefly to her painting, thinking as usual of the past when she had nothing better to do than loll around with no clothes on, when her eye caught the painting next to it.</p><p><em>What’s wrong with my eyes, these days? </em>she asked herself.  She glanced at the label beneath.  <em>Martine l’Hernault.  Headmistress 1847 – 1862.</em>  That was right, wasn’t it?  And the portrait’s face looked familiar.  But the portrait showed a middle-aged woman, entirely naked.  True, she was neatly figleafed, and showed nothing untoward – her hands and official sceptre were strategically placed.  As Ginny stared at her, the ex-Headmistress dropped a slow wink.</p><p>Mesmerised, Ginny stepped along to the next portrait.  <em>Henri Bercann.  Headmaster 1722 – 1725.</em>  And he was just as naked – and as strategically covered - as Martine, apart from his plumed helmet.  He remained expressionless, except for the slightest raise of a single eyebrow.  And the next…</p><p>There wasn’t a stitch of clothing in any of the Senate Room portraits now.  Some were less careful than others, and the occasional matronly nipple was on view, as was a provocative glimpse of body hair in one portrait. </p><p>Here was Julia, Comtesse d’Airelle, whose painting had been moved to accommodate her own when this string of pranks had started, as naked as the rest.  The countess put her head on one side, moved her hands to give Ginny the brief benefit of her breasts, and gave a crooked smile.  “We heads stand together, Miss Duchaine!” she said, proudly.  “And to tell the truth,” she added, confidingly.  “It can get unpleasantly warm in this room, in summer.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. The Witness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ginny prevailed on the other teachers to suggest candidates for the headship and Potions rôles, and she advertised in <em>The Mage</em> as well.  She managed to obtain a scattering of candidates for both posts, and set up interviews for them.  Mr Lesassier graciously agreed to assist her in interviewing the Potions hopefuls, although she was expected to interview them as well, which was an unmitigated disaster to begin with – Ginny had almost zero experience of job interviews, in either rôle, and managed to upset or annoy most of the candidates.  But with the help of the Time Shifter, and the library, she managed to dig herself out of the holes.  Lesassier and she agreed on an enthusiastic and able young Algerian witch who had been teaching Potions in her own country for several years, but was keen to return to the school that had educated her.</p>
<p>The Head selection process was exasperating.  The <em>Mage </em>advert produced nothing of use.  The candidates suggested by the staff and Senate were mostly impractical, and the few who were any use were uninterested in such a demanding rôle.  She spoke to both Apolline and Beatrix Holombec, and both used their contacts to suggest a number of possibles. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A large, bulldog-featured man surged into her office one lunchtime as she was about to leave for an afternoon of Humanities lessons.</p>
<p>“Ah, Madame Duchaine,” he announced with a confident smile. “Let me take you to lunch!”</p>
<p>In bemusement, she declined politely, saying she had a teaching commitment.  “I’m sorry,” she added.  “Should I know you?”</p>
<p>His expression of heavy good fellowship slipped.  “Gaultier Segal,” he said, shortly.  “Of the Beauxbatons Senate.  I pay your wages,” he added, trying for roguish humour.</p>
<p>“Hello, Senator Segal,” said Ginny, uncertainly.  “Can I help you?”</p>
<p>He laughed, boisterously.  “I’m here to help <em>you</em>,” he said.  “Before a mistake is made!”</p>
<p>“Mistake?”</p>
<p>Segal’s hands were in his suit pockets as he strode easily around the room, examining the paintings, admiring the view from the windows. </p>
<p>“Rousset Vidal,” he said presently, with a careless air.  “Could be an excellent headmaster,” he added thoughtfully, nodding in agreement with himself.  “I’d be careful letting him escape from your shortlist.”</p>
<p>To her embarrassment, Vidal was one of the candidates she had already rejected.  But it occurred to her that this form of attack from the Senate was what Gouin had warned her about.</p>
<p>“Really?” she said. </p>
<p>Segal gave another heavily smiling nod.  “Connections,” he said impressively.  “Rousset has <em>connections</em>.  Perhaps, young as you are, the importance of that had escaped you.”</p>
<p>Ginny stood quickly, and lifted her teaching notes and pile of marked homework.  “Thank you, Mr Segal.  That’s very useful information.  I’ll… bear it in mind.  Unfortunately, I have to go.”</p>
<p>He looked amazed and annoyed.  “What about that lunch?” he demanded.</p>
<p>“I have to teach…”</p>
<p>She tried to avoid Segal’s look of thunder as she shooed him from her room and locked it behind them.  He seemed disposed to continue his harangue, but she hurried down the nearest stairs.  They took her in the wrong direction for the new classroom block, but she decided it was worth the diversion.</p>
<p>And Rousset Vidal’s CV remained in her wastepaper bin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ginny arranged for the shortlist of candidates to visit the school, and then be interviewed, by her, by Madame Pummeroy and a representative of the Senate.  She also arranged for the candidates to meet some pupils, and dutifully wrote up their remarks and submitted these - along with the references she had collected for each of them - to the Senate, who had the final decision. </p>
<p>Gouin sent her an owl announcing that the Senate would be meeting the following week, at the school, where they desired to meet the candidates in person, and hear her verbal report on them as well.</p>
<p>Ginny hissed like the Hogwarts Express as she read this letter.   She had already decided her own choice for the candidate:  Henri Sendulla, an energetic if acerbic teacher who had been teaching Transfiguration at Durmstrang for some years, and had for the past year and a half acted as deputy to the headmistress there.  It had been difficult enough to negotiate the releasing of his time to come for interview, and she didn’t relish doing it all again, just so the Senate could check his pulse in person.</p>
<p>On the other hand, she dreaded the idea that the Senate might choose Patricia Courtier instead.  Courtier was an underwhelming and placid witch who seemed to consider the post an ideal retirement position after her years at the Ministry in the Wand Regulation department, and Ginny was filled with alarm at the thought of seeing all her hard work frittered away.  “Or <em>snored</em> away,” she muttered to herself, crossly.</p>
<p>But what was she going to do about all the naked portraits in the Senate Room?  She knew herself well enough to know that a frontal attack on her painted self was unlikely to succeed, so she approached the Comtesse d’Airelle first.</p>
<p>“Nonsense!” said the countess, to Ginny’s surprise.  “Totally unnecessary!”</p>
<p>“But the Senate…”</p>
<p>“Madame Duchaine,” said the Comtesse d’Airelle, firmly.  “I have been in this room for nearly three hundred years.  And in that time the members of the Senate have paid no notice to the portraits here.”</p>
<p>“But…”</p>
<p>Julia gave her a smile.  “I understand the difference,” she said then.  “Between your portrait and mine.  I am unfortunately dead, and you are very much alive, yet your portrait hangs here.  But you worry unnecessarily.  I will make a bargain with you:  If the Senate attempt to examine your portrait, you have my word that I will distract them, with all the… attributes… at my command.  Do not give it another thought!”</p>
<p>And Ginny had to be content with that.  She gave her own portrait a sidelong look as she walked into her office.  To her amazement, the painted Ginny turned her head and winked at her.  “Trust me,” she seemed to say.</p>
<p>Which worried Ginny more than anything she could think of. </p>
<p>The times that Gouin proposed for the Senate meeting were inevitably the busiest hours of her busiest teaching day.  Ginny managed to sweet-talk Cliny, the head house-elf, into putting on a five-course dinner in the Senate Room - with a more modest lunch for the four candidates in the classroom next door - in the hope they would then barely notice each other, never mind the portraits.</p>
<p>Perhaps Cliny had over-catered, she decided when she arrived:  The Senate Room was almost silent, and most of the Senate members were silently nodding over their paperwork as she gave her presentation.  Senator Gaultier Segal was one exception, looking annoyingly awake and angry, and Ginny had barely reached her seat when he was demanding a review of <em>all</em> the candidates, and not just (in his words) the misguided list of nobodies the Senate were being short-changed with.</p>
<p>Gouin backed her up, but she was pressurised into explaining why she thought the other candidates weren’t suitable.</p>
<p>“Insufficient <em>experience</em>?” expostulated Segal when she brushed over Rousset Vidal in a sentence.  He tried to laugh, dismissively.  “I find it highly amusing that a young woman in your position dare to mention <em>experience</em>.”</p>
<p>Ginny managed not to shrug.  “I was looking for someone more experienced than myself,” she said.  “Not considerably <em>less</em>.”</p>
<p>Segal looked furious; She caught Gouin’s eye; He seemed entertained, not angry, to her relief. </p>
<p>Then it was a younger Senate member – a stylishly-dressed woman called Claudia Paquin – who tried to get her claws into Ginny.</p>
<p>“So, Madame Duchaine,” she said in a bored voice, “Please explain your connection with Henri Sendulla!”</p>
<p>There was no connection, Ginny replied.  He had been recommended by the Ministry.</p>
<p>“<em>Who</em> in the Ministry?” demanded Paquin.</p>
<p>“One of my contacts,” put in Gouin.  “Henri Tait of the Department of Education.”</p>
<p>“And this Magnier,” said Paquin, contemptuously.  “Who is he?”</p>
<p>“He is a senior tutor in the Auror college,” said Ginny.  “An experienced educator.”</p>
<p>“And who recommended him?  The Ministry?”</p>
<p>“No,” said Ginny.  “Beatrix Holombec.  The wandmaker.”</p>
<p>“<em>Her</em>?  Why are you asking <em>her</em> advice?”</p>
<p>“Because we have taken advice from as many people as possible.”</p>
<p>“Oh?”  This was Segal once more.  “So you’re saying you need help.  Allow me…”</p>
<p>“I believe we already have a suitable shortlist,” put in Gouin, firmly.</p>
<p>“And this Courtier woman,” said Claudia Paquin.  “She’s a troublemaker.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” asked Ginny, in puzzlement. </p>
<p>“She has associations with the Free Sorcerers!”</p>
<p>Gouin intervened once more.  “The Free Sorcerers are a voluntary organisation,” he said patiently.  “They are harmless, and Madame Courtier is perfectly entitled to be part of them.”</p>
<p>“They are Jacobins!” said Paquin, hotly.  “They wish to overthrow us!”</p>
<p>“They merely wish to extend wand membership to centaurs,” said Gouin, patiently.  “Despite the centaurs themselves having no interest in the matter.”</p>
<p>“And you accept this?” demanded Segal.  “In a candidate for the headship of Beauxbatons School?”</p>
<p>“She is a worthy candidate,” said Gouin.  “She is an experienced administrator.  We should consider her equally with the others.  If you have no further questions for Madame Duchaine?  No?  Thank you, Madame Duchaine…”</p>
<p>She exchanged brief looks with the Comtesse d’Airelle as she walked back into the head’s room, who lifted a triumphant eyebrow in return, and even the painted Ginny blew her a kiss as she left.</p>
<p>Through the closed door of the Senate Room she could hear raised voices at intervals throughout the rest of the afternoon as she worked.  When the door was finally flung open, rapid angry steps could be heard pounding down the corridor, and she caught a glimpse of Segal.  He glared at her furiously as he passed, and it was hard not to flinch.  The rest of the Senate passed more slowly, deep in muttered conversation.  </p>
<p>Michel Gouin was the last of these, and he paused at her office, and gestured farewell.</p>
<p>“Have you…?” she began, uncertainly.</p>
<p>“Have we made a decision?” he suggested.  “No.  I regret not.  It must be the right decision,” he said sternly.  “And there is no burning need to hurry this.  Is the delay a problem for you?  Do you wish us to find another Acting Head?”</p>
<p>“No,” said Ginny, dolefully.  “I’d just like to know, that’s all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ginny received a message from the Infirmary a few days later:  Madame Allaire had emerged from her coma, and would like to see her deputy.</p>
<p>Ginny could only leave her desk at the end of the school day.  She hurried over to the Infirmary in the late afternoon.  It was a beautiful day, sunny but not too hot, with light clouds drifting far above the peaks surrounding the school.  The air smelt of freedom, and the thought that she would no longer have to re-live many lonely hours, that life could return to normal, was stimulating.  She would miss the Time Shifter, true, but she would manage, she told herself.  Life would be simpler, and mistakes would simply drift into the past, unfixed.</p>
<p>Madame Allaire was sitting up in bed, looking surprisingly alert and well.  She brightened when she saw Ginny.</p>
<p>“Ah!” she said.  “Good…”</p>
<p>“Madame Allaire,” said Ginny, cheerfully.  “How are you?”</p>
<p>Allaire’s gaze was intense, as if she was seeing Ginny for the first time.  “I’m well, thank you,” she said eventually.  “I understand I have missed a good deal of excitement.”</p>
<p>“Probably too much,” admitted Ginny.  “Your timing’s pretty good, I think.”</p>
<p>“And I hear I need to thank you,” Madame Allaire added more coolly.  “For all you have done for the Humanities department in my absence.”</p>
<p>“That’s OK,” said Ginny, awkwardly.</p>
<p>“You have my Time Shifter?”</p>
<p>“Oh…  Yes,” said Ginny.  She reached into her pocket for it, and held it out to Allaire.</p>
<p>But Allaire didn’t take it.  She studied Ginny, thoughtfully. </p>
<p>“It is very compelling, is it not?” she said.  “The constant feeling that there is plenty to do, that any problem can be fixed.  Do you recognise that?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Ginny, with feeling.  “Absolutely.”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure I can re-enter that… battle,” said Allaire.  “Not any more.  I think this is the time to cease being selfishly generous, and instead demand that the school finds the gold to appoint some additional Humanities teachers.  I would hope that you could be persuaded to take on one of those rôles, permanently.  I think drama, perhaps, yes?”</p>
<p>“That would be great,” said Ginny uncertainly.  Would she be able to fit back into a single position like that?  After all the freedom, the scope?</p>
<p>“Are you prepared to continue with the current arrangement until the end of term?” asked Allaire.</p>
<p>“Yes, that would be fine,” said Ginny, quickly.  “I’d be happy to.”  <em>Which gives me time to get used to the idea</em>, she told herself, glumly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The tempo of her days increased once more, as exams approached:  On top of her normal day - lesson preparation, the lessons themselves, and running the school - she was busy writing countless exam papers (fortunately Madame Allaire was helpful here), liaising with the Ministry Exam Board, planning the exam schedule with Madame Pummeroy, holding revision sessions, scurrying around franticly to provide revision resources, creating and marking quick-fire tests, and giving one-to-one coaching sessions to panicked students.</p>
<p>And then suddenly the exams started, and there was almost nothing to do.  Near silence fell on the school, and, for the first time in an age, there were only twenty-four hours in each of Ginny’s days.</p>
<p>At first, she didn’t know what to do with herself.  She felt itchy and post-stress, she had no appetite, and attempts to sleep herself to normality soon failed.  She only realised then that she had no contemporaries among the staff, and, even if Alfo had been free of exams - and hadn’t been involved with Coraline - she couldn’t spend time with him.  Suddenly she was lonely, but because of the restraining bracelet she couldn’t twist back to Paris, and Gosse - even if her responsibilities here had allowed that, even though there was nothing to do here for hours at a stretch.</p>
<p>Her salvation was the realisation that the condition of the housing stock of the school left a lot to be desired, which gave her itching wand hand plenty of scope.  The pupils - and staff – had to grow accustomed to returning home after exams and finding their houses entirely redecorated, not always to their taste.  Windows no longer stuck, wardrobes ceased rocking when opened, taps no longer dripped, toilets flushed properly, long-cherished stains disappeared from favourite sofas.  The little gardens that some houses sported now had bare earth where weeds had met a <em>Confringo</em> end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ginny was dismayed to learn that she was expected to give a speech at the end of year assembly, in front of the parents and Senate.  “What am I supposed to <em>say</em>?” she asked Madame Pummeroy, fretfully. </p>
<p>“Nothing at all,” said Pummeroy.  “I will find last year’s speech.  You can give that.”</p>
<p>“The same speech?”</p>
<p>“Certainly,” said Pummeroy.  “That’s what is expected.”</p>
<p>The Senate still hadn’t made their decision regarding the new Head of Beauxbatons.  She sent a school owl to Michel Gouin, the Chairman of the Senate, asking when the school would hear.   The reply, when it came, was brief:  He would make the announcement on the last day of term, at the final assembly.  In place of the Head’s speech, he would speak.</p>
<p>“Oh, good,” said Ginny out loud, unsure whether to be cheered or depressed by this.  At least she would be spared giving a speech she hadn’t written.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The day of the final assembly eventually dawned, and Ginny made sure her best Paris dress was clean and pressed, ready to meet the parents.  She was nervously checking her appearance in her mirror when someone hammered on her door. </p>
<p>It was Benard the caretaker.  He was red-faced and breathless, and it took him several tries to convey that one of the student houses was the subject of a prank:  There were Flobberworms hatching from beneath the wallpaper in the common room.  Benard was a competent enough wizard, but he seemed spooked by the Flobberworms appearing from every wall.  Ginny hared angrily over to the trouble spot with him, and was even angrier when she realised she had only hung the wallpaper the week before. </p>
<p>Evicting all the Flobberworms, replacing the wallpaper and calming Benard’s jitters took more time than she realised, and she was horrified to discover she was already due at the final assembly.  Then she had to calm Benard all over again - he should be there as well, to prepare, he kept saying - as they hurried across the school to the Dining Chamber. </p>
<p>She burst through the doors, breathless.  Instead of the sprinkling of round tables, the room was full of rows of chairs.  Every head – and there were many – turned to look at her.  She could see a figure standing on a raised platform against the rock face at the rear of the hall.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” she gasped.  “Sorry I’m late.”  She could hear Benard behind her now, his heaving breaths out of phase with hers.</p>
<p>“Ah, Madame Duchaine,” said the figure.  It was Michel Gouin.  “We were just talking about you.  I regret you must hear this in front of everyone, without warning,” he said, frowning at her. </p>
<p>“Warning?” echoed Ginny, uncertainly.</p>
<p>“Please join me on stage,” he said, gesturing.</p>
<p>She could almost taste the silence as she stepped down the aisle in the centre of the room.  She looked down at herself:  Her smartest dress was a little grubby and crumpled now, thanks to the Flobberworms.  She tried to smooth it down as she ascended the steps onto the stage, and found her hands were clammy.  She realised the group sitting on the stage were the rest of the Senate.  She tried to read their expressions:  Some looked friendly, some – like Gaultier Segal – angry and hostile, and the rest were staring at her, unnervingly.</p>
<p>Her steps rang as she crossed the raised stage towards him.  She turned, nervously, and a sea of faces met her gaze.</p>
<p>“Let me continue.  Shortly after Miss Duchaine arrived…” began Gouin.  <em>I’m back to being Miss Duchaine again</em>, she realised in dismay.  She could see faces she recognised below her now.  Alfo, looking shocked.  Coraline, impassive, with the rest of the monitors.  Eduard Coutermanche, near the front, with a look of glee on his face.  <em>Little toerag</em>, she said to him silently, in annoyance.  <em>Are you enjoying this?</em> </p>
<p>“…Broke several long-established school rules and customs,” Gouin was saying, “when she decided to act as a model to her art pupils…”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh no…</em>
</p>
<p>She hadn’t realised how many the Dining Chamber could seat.  Beyond the pupils, there was a sea of unknown faces, staring at her as if she was a new magical species.  Parents, presumably, but she couldn’t see any she recognised.</p>
<p>“Some of you may <em>not</em> know,” Gouin continued, “That Ameline was also the model for a piece that won a major award, and is now on display in the Army Museum.  She has fully earned, it seems, her title of <em>La Nue</em>.”</p>
<p>There were titters around the room, and Ginny’s face was hot with anger and embarrassment.  <em>What did I do to deserve this? </em>she railed to herself, and nearly out loud.</p>
<p>“It was clear that our new addition had little interest in concealment,” Gouin pronounced.  There were some snorts of laughter, mainly from the pupils. </p>
<p>“Now we come to a more serious matter,” said Gouin, with a sigh.  “I refer of course to the very recent death of the Headmaster of this school, and of the Potions master.  You have heard the distressing news that Headmaster de Metz took his own life in response to the accidental death of Mr Odson.”</p>
<p>There was an outburst of quiet muttering around the chamber.</p>
<p>“I am sorry to tell you that this is untrue,” said Gouin.  “We hid the truth, but have come to regret that decision.  Let me share with you the reality.”  Ginny could feel her heart dropping through her middle.  What was he going to say?</p>
<p>“Raduard de Metz was a respected figure…”</p>
<p>Was this some stupid theory of Criste’s, about her doing in de Metz?  <em>I’ll kick Criste’s arse</em>, she vowed to herself, although she knew she was never going to get the chance now.  Nobody ever spoke about the French Azkaban; Was it worse than its British counterpart?</p>
<p>“…But that was a lie, too,” Gouin was saying.  “It now emerges that Raduard de Metz was for many years an ally of the Hidden Duke…”  There was gasps around the room.  “And before his death rose to the position of Knight, directly serving our greatest enemy…”</p>
<p>The mutters in the room became a roar.  People – adults, mostly – were standing now, calling out, with expressions of shock and anger.  “No!” cried someone.  “Impossible!”</p>
<p>Gouin waited patiently for the noise to recede.  “No,” he said.  “Entirely true.  And he was not alone.  He was served by Denis Odson, our Potions master.”  He paused, weightily, and spoke, slowly.  “Another Hidden Wand.”</p>
<p>There was a cry then, a female one, from the depths of the audience.</p>
<p>“…De Metz and Odson realised that Madame Duchaine was a substantial danger to the Hidden Duchess,” Gouin was saying over the noise.  “Odson was given orders to deal with Ameline, and it appears that order came from Raduard de Metz.  Odson, of course, did not succeed, and met his own death.”</p>
<p>“Murder!” shouted someone behind her on the stage.  Ginny turned to look:  Gaultier Segal was standing now, his beefy features furious.  “<em>She</em> murdered him!” he called, pointing angrily at Ginny.  “Arrest her!” shouted someone behind him.</p>
<p>Gouin held his hand up, and the noise lessened, but did not cease.  “Please, Segal,” he said, quietly.  He continued in a louder voice.  “The evidence is clear that Odson’s death was not a simple climbing accident…”</p>
<p>“Whitewash!” cried Segal, angrily.  “A cover up!” shouted a woman’s voice.  Claudia Paquin, Ginny realised.</p>
<p>“…Duchaine…defending herself…” Gouin was saying.  But it was almost impossible to hear him now.</p>
<p>“SILENCE!” boomed a loud voice from the back of the hall.  Auror Criste was walking towards the stage from the door.  The noise in the room suddenly dropped to a murmur.  Everyone had expressions of stunned amazement, and Ginny was suddenly afraid.</p>
<p> “It is true that Raduard de Metz committed suicide,” said Gouin in the new quiet.  “But only in a bid to murder Madame Duchaine, here.  He died in the attempt.”</p>
<p>“So she <em>did</em> kill him!” another voice shouted, angrily, from the main seating.  She could see Criste twist to identify the speaker.</p>
<p>“Denis Odson fell!” A woman’s voice, shouting in anguish.  “It was a climbing accident!”</p>
<p>“Yes,” admitted Gouin.  “He fell.  But it was no accident.  Madame Duchaine was forced to retaliate…” </p>
<p><em>Gouin’s going to turn on me!</em> Ginny thought in fear.  <em>And</em> <em>then</em> <em>Criste’s going to arrest me…</em></p>
<p>“…Madame Duchaine, it has been confirmed, used a single <em>Confringo </em>curse.  She stands before you, and looks, may I say – pardon me, Madame Duchaine – relatively harmless.  And a <em>Confringo</em> spell has no effect on flesh.  But the power of the spell brought down the entire Great Cliff, and in that fall, Mr Odson perished.”</p>
<p>Total silence.  “This is nonsense,” said Segal, eventually.  He sounded more confident now.  “The cliff is as it ever was!”</p>
<p>“Yes,” said Gouin, slowly.  “That’s true.  But only after Madame Duchaine repaired it.”</p>
<p>“<em>Repaired it…?</em>”  “No!”  “This is all rubbish!”  “Lies!”  The yelling voices in the Chamber were ear-splitting.</p>
<p>To Ginny’s amazement – and everyone else’s – the cliff wall behind her suddenly disappeared, and in its place was an expanse of blue.  Sky, Ginny realised.  At the bottom of the image was a long, jagged line of rock - a mountain ridge - stretching across the wall, with a minimal path running along it.  The architects of the path were also visible:  Sheep were browsing along the ridge, and there was plenty of other evidence of them - Their waste products were scattered copiously across the grass.  In the distance below were mountains and empty valleys, and the entire area appeared deserted.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Mr Benard,” called Criste in the sudden silence.  “This is May 20<sup>th</sup> this year.  Founder’s Day weekend.”  Everyone’s attention was split between Criste, walking down the aisle, and the image in front of them.</p>
<p>Two figures were walking along the path, their eyes on their feet.  The first figure was male, thin, middle aged, with a minimal beard, like a bucket handle around his chin.  He was wearing boots, shorts, a sun hat, and had a rucksack on his back.  The other was a woman of a similar age, small, stocky, more conventionally dressed, with a stick in one hand.</p>
<p>“These are Georges and Marie Petain,” said Criste.  He was on the stage too now, standing rather to close to Ginny for her comfort.  Her restraining bracelet seemed to tingle in his presence.  “And this is Marie Petain’s memory.  They were on holiday, and staying nearby.”</p>
<p>The male hiker paused, looked around him and produced his wand.  “<em>Revelio!</em>” he cried, and flicked his wand.  Ginny realised that the valley immediately below them had changed abruptly.</p>
<p>Beneath them now was the school, clustered around the lake, which had the five diamonds of the <em>Choc </em>pitches clearly visible along it.  The Petains were on the same side as the family houses, the jumble of roofs she could just see far below.  The school buildings opposite were clear in the sunlight, and she could pick out the new classroom building, catching the sunlight dazzlingly, and then she could make out the old school, the Quadrangle, the Dining Chamber.</p>
<p>Petain shrugged his rucksack off his shoulders and put it on the ground, then flicked his wand once more.  Ginny jumped when a full-sized wooden dining chair leapt out of the rucksack, followed by a second chair, and then a matching dining table.  These settled themselves on the ground, and the Petains sat down at either end of the table, Petain with a comfortable sigh.  Another wrist flick, and the table was covered with plates and a covered tureen.  He lifted the tureen lid, sniffed with pleasure, and both bowls filled with soup.</p>
<p>Criste sniffed, disdainfully.  “Whitebait and garlic,” he said.  “His own recipe.”  A loaf leaped to attention and sliced itself, then slices transferred to their side plates.  “Really slum it, these hikers,” said Criste in Ginny’s ear.  “Two more courses to go, only they didn’t get to…”</p>
<p>Petain’s head came up quickly and he stared down into the valley.  Ginny heard it too:  A distant shout.</p>
<p>The view changed suddenly:  The Quadrangle ballooned massively, as if through a telescope.</p>
<p>Ginny could see two figures, the one with red hair in pursuit of the other, on the lawn to the left of the Quadrangle.  Even from this distance, it was possible to see a green line reach out and strike the redhead, who tumbled and fell.</p>
<p>Ginny could hear gasps.  “Was that…?”  “That was <em>Avada Kedavra!</em>” Ginny recognised the second voice as Madame Desprez’s. </p>
<p>The redhead struggled to her feet.  Another green line.  The other figure was running, disappearing behind the buildings.  The redhead was running too.</p>
<p>“<em>Avada Kedavra!</em>” echoed another voice.  “Why isn’t she dead?”</p>
<p>“Who is the other figure?” demanded a voice from the audience.  “The one who ran away?”</p>
<p>The image froze, the redheaded figure transfixed by another green line. </p>
<p>“A pupil of the school,” said Gouin.  “She escaped, and is perfectly safe.”</p>
<p>“This is a fake!” shouted Segal.  “A travesty!  What <em>game</em> is this?”</p>
<p>“It’s real,” said Criste, with satisfaction.  “Validated by the Auror Department.”</p>
<p>“<em>Real?  </em>I’m not going to be a part of this fraud,” announced Segal, standing once more. </p>
<p>“Please sit,” said Criste, firmly.  He met Segal’s eyes, calmly, and then Segal was sitting, cowed.</p>
<p>Ginny looked up at the screen, which still showed a solid green line touching the redhead, frozen in mid-stride.  Then the image was moving.  The redhead was staggering, falling, rising, and a wand was visible in her hand. </p>
<p>“What?” They could hear Petain’s - the hiker’s - voice, muttering in puzzlement.  “What was that?”</p>
<p>One running figure had disappeared.  The other stayed, stupidly, as another green line closely missed her, but then a thicker red line took its place.</p>
<p>To Ginny, who knew what was about to happen, the time seemed to stretch, until she could see the cliff face crumbling, bursting, falling…</p>
<p>There were screams from the audience, and movement.</p>
<p>“Be still!” cried Criste.  “This is merely a recording!”</p>
<p>The screams and yells turned to exclamations of horror as the cliff face fell and consumed a whole section of the glass fortress, and the rear of the Quadrangle.  The redhead could be seen running.  Ginny could hear the intakes of breath; even she, knowing she had survived, tensed as the fleeing figure fought to evade the tide of falling rock.</p>
<p>“I don’t understand,” said a voice, loudly.  “The school isn’t wrecked!  How can this be true?”  Ginny could see one of the parents standing, uncertain, shocked.</p>
<p>“We haven’t finished,” said Criste, loudly, and the voices dwindled.</p>
<p>The sunlight was back.  The Petains were visible once more, but Marie Petain was crouched over her husband, who was sprawled on the ground.</p>
<p>“This is four hours later,” announced Criste.</p>
<p>“What happened to him?” called someone.  “Is he dead?”</p>
<p>“It was the shock,” said Criste.  “But he made a full recovery.”</p>
<p>“Lucky for you, his wife was tougher than he was,” he murmured in Ginny’s ear, making her jump. </p>
<p>The image on the wall zoomed in once more, showing the redhead walking uncertainly out of the damaged front range of the Quadrangle.</p>
<p>Ginny remembered feeling totally normal by the time she’d returned to Beauxbatons, but now she could see the redhead’s unsteady gait and uncertain path. </p>
<p>“Is she drunk?” asked someone, lightly.</p>
<p>“The aftereffects of a Muggle poison,” said Criste.  “She wasn’t meant to survive.”</p>
<p>“What’s she doing?”</p>
<p>“Wait!” said Gouin.</p>
<p>Ginny could see her own indecision.  She remembered vividly the overwhelming feeling that it was too late to do anything.</p>
<p>Ginny could see her other self’s wand hand coming up, the flick of her wand, and the brief command.  Then the lengthy pause.</p>
<p>There were cries of shock and surprise behind her as the rocks that lay over the school like a huge Giant’s hand began to pull back, withdrawing to the foot of the cliff.  As she watched, the shattered tower of the old school regrew, straining upwards until it was complete once more.  The image shook as the huge pile of fallen rocks leapt into the air, and it was as if the cliff was leaping forwards to return to its original line.  Even from the Petains’ distant vantage point she could hear the hissing as the glass of the Quadrangle lifted upwards, and reformed into the familiar building, and that too was intact now, gleaming once more in the sun.  The mist above the Quadrangle disappeared as suddenly as she remembered, and the entire school was triumphantly perfect.  Ginny could see a fleck of red:  Her earlier self, walking back into the Quadrangle.</p>
<p>The image zoomed out, to show Marie Petain standing stock still next to her unconscious husband, staring in amazement. “Bugger me,” she said, blankly.  “Ooh!” she said then.  She clapped her hand to her mouth in embarrassment, and looked around wildly.  The room was filled with giggles.</p>
<p>“Mr Criste!” said Gouin, annoyed.  “I asked you to remove that part!”</p>
<p>She could hear Criste laugh quietly, a deep, comfortable growl.  “It’s part of the official record, sir,” he said.</p>
<p>The Petains, their dinner, the mountains, school and sky around them changed abruptly into the familiar rock face that formed the rear of the Dining Chamber.</p>
<p>The loud, amazed comments around the room became cheers, and applause.  Gouin stepped towards Ginny, took her shoulder, and pushed her around to see the reaction of the entire room. </p>
<p>Gouin was holding his hand up now, and the room slowly quietened.</p>
<p>“We have just witnessed,” he said quietly, “one more battle between the forces of the Hidden, and the forces of openness.  A Hidden Knight in league with a Hidden Wand - against <em>La Nue</em>.  Two powerful enemies of our country who wished to conceal, to oppress, to support the forces of evil, against someone who conceals nothing, not even herself, apart from one small detail.”</p>
<p>Gouin looked around impressively, obviously enjoying this.  The entire room was silent for several seconds.</p>
<p>“<em>What</em> detail?” asked Madame Desprez, eventually, speaking for the rest.  She sounded confused, mirroring the expressions of most of the room.</p>
<p>“Her true name,” said Gouin.</p>
<p>Ginny could feel herself falling now, from the height of elation to plunging horror.</p>
<p>“It may be a disappointment to many of you to learn that <em>La Nue </em>– our own Joan of Arc - is not French, but English.  Her true name is Ginny Weasley.”</p>
<p>Silence became murmurs, which became loud voices. </p>
<p>“A criminal!” shouted Segal, with satisfaction.  “You are associating with a criminal, Gouin!”</p>
<p>“Please!” called Gouin.  “Let me speak!”  He waited patiently until the noise dropped, so he could be heard clearly once more.</p>
<p>“Yes, Madame Weasley is a fugitive from the British ministry.  But for what reason?  For <em>openness</em>!”</p>
<p>“She broke the law!” shouted Segal. </p>
<p>“She’s a criminal!” cried Claudia Paquin.</p>
<p>Gouin seemed genuinely angry then.  “<em>What</em> law?” he shouted.  “Let me tell you!  <em>There is no such law!</em>  Not in France, and, at the time, not in Britain!  This young witch saw fit to arm another magical race!  <em>This</em> is why she was arrested, and why she had to flee!”</p>
<p>“She broke the Statute!  And <em>you</em> harbour her!” yelled Paquin.  “Criste!  Arrest <em>him</em>!  And <em>her</em>!”</p>
<p>“If <em>La Nue</em> – If Madame Weasley – had seen fit to provide a wand to another race,” said Gouin loudly, “That would be a crime against the Statute that binds us!  But <em>did </em>she?  <em>No!</em>  She enchanted the personal daggers of a Goblin tribe with a spell that had one purpose only!  <em>To destroy Dementors</em>!  What <em>crime</em> is that?”</p>
<p>There was a sudden uncertain muttering throughout the Chamber.  “That is not a <em>crime</em>!” cried Gouin, rhetorically.  “<em>No!  </em>It is an act <em>only</em> against Dementors - and the forces who employ them!  <em>How can that be wrong</em>?  That was no crime!  <em>That</em> was an act of openness!”</p>
<p>He took Ginny’s arm once more, pinning her, as she stared in confusion at the bewildered room.</p>
<p>“Madame Weasley came here to teach.  Yes, to teach and learn.  And she has taught us much.  She has taught us the true value of openness.  More: she has taught us to open our eyes, and listen to the truths we have preferred to ignore, in the name of peace!”</p>
<p>“No!” shrieked Claudia Paquin.  “You will not get away with this!”</p>
<p>“Mr Criste?” called Gouin.  “We would like to continue our meeting now.”</p>
<p>There was a nervous silence around the Dining Chamber as Criste marched down the aisle.  He produced his wand, and the doors flew open.  Criste turned briefly and flicked his wand again; Ginny started as the bracelet around her wrist tugged at her.  But then it opened and flew across to the room, where Criste caught it.  The doors boomed behind him, and the room was filled with amazed voices.</p>
<p>“I have more to say!” announced Gouin. </p>
<p>The noise in the Dining Chamber only slowly quietened.</p>
<p>“You will remember we were outlining the career of Madame Weasley,” said Gouin, calmly.  “There is much I could tell you, but I will be brief.  In the absence of an appointed headmaster, Madame Weasley, our acting Head of Humanities, was persuaded to take up the rôle of acting headmistress, while we endeavoured to find a permanent replacement for Raduard de Metz.  I would like to move on now, to explain how that search was done.” </p>
<p>He went on to discuss the candidate selection process in fussy detail.  Ginny watched the audience relax into boredom.</p>
<p>Ginny felt an autumnal sadness at his words.  This was the end of both of her temporary posts.  She made an instant decision that she’d had enough.  She was tired of being treated like a pack mule by Beauxbatons Academy.  But go where?  Back home?  And do what, apart from get arrested?  And she’d grown to love teaching, she only realised now.</p>
<p><em>Maybe I should ask Criste for a job.  Would he take me on, maybe?</em> </p>
<p>“We have seen some outstanding candidates for this important rôle,” Gouin was saying.  “And I am sure you are keen to know the identity of the successful candidate.  But first, I have something to say to Madame Weasley.”</p>
<p>He turned to Ginny, who could only stare at him, uncertainly.  “You have put as much effort into finding these candidates as you have in every other endeavour in which you have made on behalf of this school.  But – I may say - you made a serious omission.”</p>
<p>“Omission?” she echoed, stupidly.  <em>What did I miss?</em></p>
<p>“The Senate have made their choice, but <em>not </em>from any of the candidates you have put forward.”</p>
<p>Ginny felt suddenly angry.  <em>So who is it, Gouin? </em>she wanted to burst out.  <em>Your son?  Some favourite niece?</em>  <em>Segal’s stupid puppet?</em>  <em>You could have saved me a lot of effort…</em></p>
<p>“Miss Weasley?” he called, puzzled.  She looked around in surprise: She was at the edge of the stage, at the top of the steps leading down to the main floor.  She couldn’t remember walking there.</p>
<p>Gouin was still talking, his words giving her a headache now.  “I realise you are busy, but before you leave, the Senate would like to thank you for all your efforts on the school’s behalf.”</p>
<p><em>Thanks are easy</em>, she thought, in annoyance.  <em>And horribly final.</em></p>
<p>“At last, I can announce the joint decision that the Senate and the Ministry have made.  The new permanent Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy is Madame Ginny Weasley.”</p>
<p>In the sudden silence, Ginny turned to stare at him, dumbly.  “What?” she managed eventually.  “But I…”</p>
<p>“Let me congratulate you,” said Gouin, stepping towards her.</p>
<p>His hands went to her shoulders, and she was pulled towards him, and kissed soundly on both cheeks.  Her face was hotter than the sun, and her voice wasn’t working, as he turned her round to face the pupils, parents and teachers, who were cheering and applauding.</p>
<p>Ginny then was only conscious of noise, and smiles, and embraces, as pupils and strangers crowded around her, while their words went straight past her.  She could only remember fragments:  Repeatedly thanking Michel Gouin, probably excessively.  Madame Desprez kissing her cheeks nearly as many times.  Eduard Coutermanche, babbling happily at both her and a cheerful couple she assumed were his parents. Gaultier Segal and Claudia Paquin storming furiously out of the Dining Chamber.  Other members of the Senate crushing her fingers.  Pierre, introducing his parents to her.  Coraline, mouth crooked with amusement, patting her shoulder.</p>
<p>Eventually she found herself in the Headmaster’s room – the Headmistress’s room - <em>her</em> room now - staring out of the window, looking at the shadow of the mountains above slowly covering the lake, as her thoughts cleared, equally slowly.</p>
<p>So t<em>his is home, now.</em>  It had felt close to that for some time, she realised, but deep down she had expected to be found out, to be sent away, her real name held against her.</p>
<p>“But what about my arrest warrant?” she’d asked Gouin, amidst the clamour of the Dining Chamber.  “In Britain?”</p>
<p>“The Senate did discuss that,” Gouin had replied, raising his voice above the din.  “It was felt to be of little importance.  In fact, we were reassured that you would be less likely, in that circumstance, to quit your post and return to England!”</p>
<p>“Fair point,” she’d said.</p>
<p><em>Do I miss home?</em>  Yes, she knew.  The chilly Hogwarts corridors.  Being told off by her parents.  Hermione’s exasperating sigh.  Being ignored by Harry, parented by Ron.  <em>I’m an exile now</em>, she told herself.  <em>Until things settled down.  If they ever do.</em></p>
<p>The valley was entirely in shadow, she realised, and she was getting hungry.  All was quiet, so presumably the Flobberworms hadn’t returned.  She opened the door into the Senate Room, which was in deep shadow.</p>
<p>She heard an exclamation, and then quiet, rapid steps.  She pulled out her wand and hissed <em>“Lumos!</em>”  It was still a shock how much light her new wand produced. </p>
<p>All was quiet, and there was nobody in the room.  <em>What did I hear?</em>  She walked cautiously along the Senate Room, past the slumbering portraits, her wand held high.  </p>
<p>Her predecessor’s portrait was empty, as usual:  <em>Raduard de Metz, Headmaster 1977 - 1985, 1999 - 2000.</em>  Would he ever have the nerve to return to his portrait here?  With or without his clothes?</p>
<p>Something caught her eye; What was different?</p>
<p>One of the portraits, labelled <em>Guillaume de Fleury, Headmaster 1388 – 1393</em>, showed an unusually young and handsome headmaster - barely older than her – who had already intrigued her.  His fair hair was disturbed, although his eyes were closed. </p>
<p>She realised that something was missing.  On instinct, she retraced her steps to examine her own portrait.  Her painted self was in her usual pose, leaning back on her hands, although she seemed annoyed, and Ginny noticed her chest was heaving.  But her instincts had been correct:  On the ground next to her was a brightly polished helmet, which Ginny remembered had previously adorned the head of Guillaume de Fleury.  The other Ginny avoided meeting her eyes.</p>
<p>She realised the label below the painting had changed, too:  It now read, proudly:  <em>Madame Ginevra (Ginny) Weasley.  Headmistress 2000 -.</em></p>
<p>She jabbed a forefinger at the label and glared pointedly at her other self.  “Nothing to hide behind any more!  <em>Madame</em> <em>Weasley</em>!” she hissed.  She turned and stalked off.  But then she felt compelled to retrace her steps, and add: “OK, he’s quite hot…”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. The Untouchable</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The second story in the Ginny Weasley series. Ginny helps a tribe of Goblins - and is accused of breaking the law. Her wand is confiscated, and to avoid arrest she flees to France, together with Draco Malfoy and Lavender Brown - now a werewolf. Eventually she finds refuge at Beauxbatons, while trying to keep her private life out of the public eye. And it's increasingly clear that the war isn't over yet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So,” said Mr Cotte.  “It seems we must address you by yet another new name.  It’s hard for a poor teacher to keep up.  First it was Miss Duchaine, and then <em>Madame</em> Duchaine.  And then <em>La Nue</em>.  And then Headmistress.  And now Madame Weasley, as well.”</p><p>Ginny was sitting at breakfast with Madame Desprez and Cotte the following morning, feeling fragile.  There had been an end of year party last night, where she’d drunk more than she was used to, and danced endlessly with a wide variety of partners – staff, pupils and parents - to music familiar and unknown.</p><p>“Ginny’s fine,” she replied, embarrassed, wiping butter and flakes of croissant from her fingers.  “Or Ameline if it’s easier.  Did you really call me…?”</p><p>“<em>La Nue</em>?” prompted Desprez.  “Well, it is shorter.”</p><p>“It rolls off the tongue,” said Cotte.</p><p>“It always made me feel like an object,” confessed Ginny. </p><p>Without warning, a small, feathered bundle dropped onto the table in front of her.  A tiny owl, with a small fat envelope tied to its leg.</p><p>“Pablo!” she said in amazement.  “How…?”</p><p>Pablo was fluttering his wings now, bouncing on the table like a ball, and she realised he wanted freeing from his burden.  Her fingers trembled as she untied the letter, and then Pablo was free.  He fluttered onto the edge of her glass of orange juice, and he was drinking, then looking at her with those huge eyes of his, and her fingers of their own accord were stroking him, gently scratching at his neck as he’d always liked.  “Pablo,” she repeated in wonder.</p><p>“Is he yours?” asked Madame Desprez in surprise. </p><p>“Yes,” said Ginny.  “I haven’t seen him for…  well, ages.”</p><p>“The false name must have confused him,” said Cotte. </p><p>“Sorry, Pablo,” said Ginny, guiltily. </p><p>“Well, read the letter,” prompted Desprez. </p><p>The letter was from her mother, of course.  Ginny had to unfold it endless times, until she could flatten it out and read it:</p><p> <em>My dearest daughter</em>, Mrs Weasley wrote.  <em>Something very strange happened today.  Pablo</em>…</p><p>The words <em>your owl</em> had been inserted above the line of writing, to Ginny’s annoyance.</p><p>
  <em>Pablo (your owl), who has been moping around the house all year now, came to me in a flutter this morning, and would not rest until I sat down and began writing a letter, which I’m assuming should be to you, and here it is.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I should give you all our news, but it’s hard to know where to start.  It’s very quiet here, with just the three of us, although Angelina is often here with us – she’s so good at cheering up George, bless her.  George is shouldering the entire burden of running Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, with her help, although she is still keen to forge her own career as an Arithmancer when time permits.  We keep hoping the pair of them will tie the knot soon, but George is always cross (and of course your father always sides with George) when I bring up the subject.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ron is doing well with his Auror training, although he misses Harry and Hermione, of course.  I was under the impression that the three of them would be training together, but of course you young people always have to do your own thing, it seems.</em>
</p><p>Was that a little jibe, or a big one?  And where was Hermione, if she wasn’t training to be an Auror? </p><p>And would her mother really prefer Ginny to be in Azkaban, as long as she knew where she was?</p><p><em>No doubt you know that Fleur now has a baby daughter, </em>wrote Mrs Weasley, <em>which was a shock to us all.  She’s far too young to be a mother, in our view, but we give her as much advice as we can, of course.</em></p><p><em>I imagine you see much more of her than we do, </em>Mrs Weasley continued.  <em>After all, girls are always so much closer to their mothers</em>. </p><p>Two jibes for the price of one.</p><p>
  <em>Your father and Ron send their love, and as soon as we next see Percy and Charlie – both are well, Percy is still seeing that strange Daphne woman – I’m sure they’ll want to be remembered to you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When you eloped with that awful boy…</em>
</p><p>“Eloped?” said Ginny out loud, forgetting where she was.  “Sorry,” she muttered to Desprez and Cotte.</p><p>
  <em>When you eloped with that awful boy, we hoped that at least you would both do the right thing, but it turned out that was not to be.  When these kinds of men have had what they want (as I have often told you) they no longer wish to associate with the sort of girl who lets them behave in such a way, but perhaps you have now learned that painful lesson.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Write back soon, and remember that whatever you have done, you are still our child, and always will be.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love, Mum</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“All well?” asked Cotte.  “Is there a problem?”</p><p>Ginny realised she was running her forefinger over the last two words of the letter.  “No,” she said, blinking, embarrassed to find her eyes wet.  “It’s just so nice to hear from them.”</p><p>“Is it a very nice letter, then?” asked Madame Desprez.</p><p>“Well,” said Ginny.  “I suppose so, yes.”</p><p><br/>She took Pablo back to her room after breakfast, and he fluttered happily about the room, showing no signs of his mammoth journey.  She opened a window for him, just in case, but when she sat down at her desk, he flew to the top of one of de Metz’s paintings of a horse, and went to sleep.</p><p><em>Dear Mum, </em>she wrote.  <em>It was so nice to hear from you, and to hear that everyone’s well, and all the news. </em></p><p>
  <em>I’m so sorry I couldn’t write to you properly before, but Madame Delacour was insistent that I shouldn’t.  But now things have been sorted (over here, I mean), and if Pablo doesn’t mind carrying our letters, I hope we can be back to normal.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m just settling into my new job, and everyone here is lovely.  It’s been a busy year, and a bit strange at times.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I think it’s going to be a while yet before I can come and see you at The Burrow. But perhaps you could come to France, as soon as the holidays have started, and visit me?  It would be lovely to see you all, so we could catch up properly without wearing out Pablo.  There are plenty of beds here.  And the weather is always lovely.  Let me give you my new address:</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Madame Ginny Weasley</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Headmistress</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Beauxbatons Academy</em>
</p><p>
  <em>France</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>With all my love to you all,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ginny xx</em>
</p><p> </p><p>She felt better once she’d finished the letter, and carried it over to Pablo, but he was soundly asleep.  <em>It can wait</em>, she told herself.  <em>Until Pablo is fully rested.  And it’s nice to have his company for a while</em>.</p><p>There was a step at the door, and she turned.  There was a man standing there, someone she dimly recognised.  Not very tall, swept back hair, robed.</p><p>“We have met,” he said.  “But I see you don’t remember me.  I am Auguste Ragno…”</p><p>“First Minister,” Ginny managed with a gulp.  “It’s a pleasure…  Would you like to sit down?  Can I get you something to drink?”</p><p>Ragno shook his head, but sat in her visitor’s chair.  She fumbled her way around her desk and sat.</p><p>“I cannot stay,” he said, but he seemed to settle himself tiredly into his chair as he examined her. </p><p>“Congratulations,” he said.</p><p>“It was a surprise…” she began, but he waved her to silence.</p><p>“I am pleased you accepted,” he said, but then there was quiet once more.</p><p>“I know,” he said eventually, slowly, “I know that you will continue to work your hardest for this school.  You have been entrusted with the heart of Magical France.  Something very dear to us.  That is a huge responsibility.”</p><p>He seemed to want a response, but she could only mutter, “I know…”</p><p>“You do not waste words,” the First Minister said with a glimmer of a smile.  “But I did not appoint you to make speeches.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> appointed me?” echoed Ginny, in amazement.</p><p>“Michel Gouin was not sure,” Ragno said.  “Because of your age.”  He sighed.  “It is not the first time, of course.”</p><p>“You mean, there have been other teenage Beauxbatons heads?”</p><p>He shook his head.  “You are too young to remember Grindelwald,” he said.  “When we sacrificed so many of our young, when we sent them off to war.”</p><p>“I was at the Battle for Hogwarts,” Ginny pointed out.  “Lots of young people died then.  My brother…”</p><p>But he didn’t seem to hear her.  “We always protect children<em>,</em>” he said.  “It is an instinct.”  He was leaning forward earnestly now.  “But <em>these</em> children - the pupils of Beauxbatons - are more than that,” he said<em>.  </em>“They are our future.  Without them we are nothing.  A history forgotten.  So we <em>must</em> protect them, with our lives.”  The minister was small, physically unimpressive, yet the look in his eyes burned into her.  “If you need help, ask, and we will do all we can.” </p><p>“I will,” Ginny said, uncertainly.</p><p>He broke eye contact, suddenly, stood and made for the door.  Then he paused.  “Although you must realise…”  he started.</p><p>“Realise what?” she prompted him eventually.</p><p>He paused at the threshold.  “You must realise,” he said, still avoiding her eyes, “that sometimes there may be no help we can give.  Do you understand?”</p><p>“I’ll do my best,” she managed.</p><p>Ragno turned to look at her then, and gave another tired yet triumphant smile.  “Someone made a mistake,” he said.  “Sending you here.”</p><p> </p><p>Ginny had to hurry down to the main entrance, to say goodbye to everyone as they left.   Her arm grew sore at waving at all the pupils as they left for the summer, and her throat ached from shouting farewells.</p><p>Alfo pushed his way through the crowd, along with Coraline, to say goodbye.  “So, what next?” she asked Alfo. </p><p>He started to say something, but Coraline talked across hm.  “He’s coming to Spain,” she said.  “I want to start a Magical Menagerie for rare breeds, and he will help.  Anyway, thanks for everything.”</p><p>“Thanks,” Alfo echoed, his eyes on her.</p><p>“It’s been a pleasure, Alfo,” she managed.</p><p>And here was Madame Allaire, stylishly dressed now, with a huge and extravagant hat of feathers and fruit.</p><p>“You will find some more staff?” she demanded.  “For Humanities?”</p><p>“I’ll try,” said Ginny.  “Look, here’s your Time Shifter…”</p><p>“No,” said Madame Allaire, shaking her head so her hat feathers waved.  “I don’t want it.  You keep it now.  And you may need it, if you cannot find the right staff.”</p><p>“<em>Me?</em>  But you could…”</p><p>“No,” said Allaire.  “I won’t.  I will oversee Humanities, but I will only teach one subject in future.  History, I think.  No, I leave the rest to you.  Thank you, Madame Du…  Madame Weasley.  I will see you in September.”</p><p>And then there was silence.  She should be going, too, but she had too much to think about.  She walked slowly back to the Quadrangle, to her office.  Pablo was still asleep, and she stood next to him, staring out of the window, her thoughts tangled. </p><p> </p><p>There was a step behind her, and she turned, and then froze in shock.  “This is a surprise,” she managed.</p><p>“I think I’m a lot more surprised than you,” said Hermione Granger, looking around the room, wide-eyed.  “Congratulations.”</p><p>“How…?”</p><p>“I have sources,” said Hermione, calmly.  “Which is why I’m here.”</p><p>Ginny shelved that comment for now.  “How… How are you?  How’s everybody?”</p><p>“Everybody’s OK,” said Hermione, coming into the room and stepping to the window.  “Great view.  Ron says hi, although he hasn’t heard your <em>latest</em> news yet.  He’s in England, so I’m not seeing much of him at the moment.”</p><p>“Are you…?  Is he…?”</p><p>“Oh, we’re still together,” said Hermione, composedly.  “Thanks for asking.  But he’s busy with his training, and I’m busy too.”</p><p>“Busy training?” asked Ginny, intrigued.</p><p>Hermione had the grace to look embarrassed.  “No…  There doesn’t seem to be the time…  I saw Harry yesterday, and he’s fine, too.”</p><p>“Oh… Is he back home now?”</p><p>“No,” said Hermione.  “He’s still in Poland.  As am I.”</p><p>“What are you doing in <em>Poland</em>?”</p><p>Hermione sighed.  “Trying to prevent a war,” said Hermione.</p><p>That amused Ginny, somehow.  “On your own?”</p><p>“No,” said Hermione, seriously.  “There are quite a few of us.  Aurors and Untouchables.  And plenty of Poles, of course, and the French, and some Germans and Italians.”</p><p>“So you’re an Auror now?” asked Ginny.  “Enjoying it?”</p><p>“I’m not an Auror,” said Hermione.  She was that strange pink colour again.  “I’m not allowed to tell you this, but in the circumstances…”</p><p>“Tell me what?  <em>What</em> circumstances?”</p><p>“The <em>circumstance</em> is that little Ginny Weasley has set this whole country on its end and is now Headmistress of Beauxbatons to boot.  Before your nineteenth birthday.   Beauxbatons heads are traditionally young, I understand, but this takes the biscuit, if you don’t mind me saying so.”</p><p>“No,” said Ginny.  “But you’re changing the subject.  What aren’t you allowed to tell me?”</p><p>“That I work for the Department of Mysteries.”</p><p>“<em>You</em>?” asked Ginny in amazement.  “You’re an Untouchable?”</p><p>“Hadn’t you guessed?”</p><p>“How was I supposed to guess?” demanded Ginny.</p><p>“Apolline didn’t say anything?” asked Hermione in surprise.</p><p>“Apolline <em>never</em> says anything,” said Ginny, in annoyance.  “Hadn’t you noticed?”</p><p>“So why do you think you were given a ground-breaking magical course in French last year?” asked Hermione.  She sat down in the guest’s chair and let out a long breath.</p><p>“I still have no idea,” said Ginny, circling the desk and sitting as well.  “That was <em>you</em>?”</p><p>“Along with Apolline,” replied Hermione.  “She wanted to recruit you, and because she knew who I was, she got me to persuade McGonagall to get you French lessons.  Not that any of that went remotely to plan.  Which is what plans are for, I suppose.  And I never had the least notion that you would end up here, at Beauxbatons, nor as poster girl for the new France.”</p><p>“You can’t blame me for that,” said Ginny.  “Blame Gosse.”</p><p>“I blame Beatrix more,” said Hermione, tartly. </p><p>“Really?  So you know her?”</p><p>“Not well,” admitted Hermione.  “But well enough to know she has all the subtlety of a teething dragon.  Do be careful…”</p><p>“Don’t you trust her?” asked Ginny, surprised once more. </p><p>“I don’t mean that,” said Hermione.  “She’s on our side, there’s no doubt about that.  And she’s all about openness into the bargain.  But if… Well, if Beatrix says jump, I suggest you look down first.”</p><p>“I’ll bear it in mind,” said Ginny, dryly.  “Although your advice is probably a little late.  But Harry is an Auror, yeah?  Or are there surprises there too?”</p><p>“No, he’s an Auror.  Trainee, in theory, but everyone looks to him.  It’s what he does best.”</p><p>“So we’re all shaking the world, are we?” said Ginny, lightly.</p><p>Hermione shrugged.  “It’s the other side doing all the shaking,” she said despondently.  “We’re trying to keep all the plates on the table, while the Hiddens hog the initiative.   We need to turn that around.  Somehow.  Look, I can’t stay.  Any messages for Harry?  Or Lavender, or Draco?”</p><p>“<em>What</em>?  Wait, are <em>Lavender </em>and<em> Draco</em> in Poland too?”</p><p>“No,” said Hermione.  “They’re still in Paris.  Truth to tell, I haven’t seen Draco, but Lavender sees him quite often.”</p><p>“I hope she’s keeping away from him,” said Ginny, spontaneously.</p><p>Hermione looked amazed.  “Are you starting a stud farm, here?  What about Gosse?  And this wand designer I’m hearing about?”</p><p>“Openness is overrated,” grumbled Ginny.  “Don’t I have any secrets?”</p><p>“Apparently not,” said Hermione.  “Well, I wouldn’t worry about Draco at the moment.  They’re keeping him pretty busy.  All the dirt he can remember about the Death Eaters.”</p><p>“What!  Wait, are they <em>interrogating</em> him?  Is he OK with this?”  She realised she was standing, leaning over the desk towards Hermione.</p><p>Hermione held up both hands.  “Hey!” she protested.  “Don’t Stun the messenger.  As far as I know, he’s fine.  If you don’t believe me, ask <em>him</em>.”</p><p>“Ask him how, exactly?”</p><p>“I was told you were still sharing a house,” said Hermione, puzzled.  “In Paris.”</p><p>“Sharing…?  Oh!  No, I haven’t been back there since…  Well, I’ve been busy,” Ginny said defensively.</p><p>“So I’ve heard.  But with your Time Shifter…”</p><p>“You know about that?” demanded Ginny.  “It was supposed to be a secret…”</p><p>“The French Invisibles administer all their Time Shifters, and they share what they know with us.  But surely you could give it an extra twist and go and see Draco.”</p><p>“We didn’t part on the best of terms,” admitted Ginny.</p><p>“I thought he loved you?”</p><p>“So did I,” admitted Ginny, unhappily.  “But apparently he loves his own skin more.”</p><p>“I always thought he was a rat,” said Hermione, thoughtfully.  “You don’t mind me saying so?”</p><p>“No,” sighed Ginny.  “He is, really.  As a bad boy, he’s disappointingly unbad.  And as a boyfriend he leaves a lot to be desired.”</p><p>“Lavender’s still keen,” said Hermione.</p><p>“Yeah, I know.  But he’s still scared of her, isn’t he?”</p><p>“True.   Look, I need to go.  I just needed to stop by and catch up, say congrats, all that…”</p><p>“And congratulations to you, from the sound of it,” said Ginny.  “Sounds like you’re in the thick of it.”</p><p>“It’s not over yet,” said Hermione.  “Some days I feel like it’s hardly begun.”</p><p>“Two down here,” said Ginny encouragingly. </p><p>“I still don’t know how you got away with that,” said Hermione.</p><p>“Hey, I’m up to it,” said Ginny, mildly offended.</p><p>“I meant <em>Avada Kedavra</em>,” said Hermione.  “I’m sure Harry’s nose must be out of joint.  Surviving it is meant to be his speciality.”</p><p>“It was the wand, I think,” said Ginny.  “It just wasn’t powerful enough.  What I don’t understand is why Odson was using it.  He had a great wand.  He was always going on about it, anyway.”</p><p>“Oh, I know that one,” said Hermione.  “I know why he didn’t use his own.”</p><p>“Go on,” urged Ginny, intrigued.  “What was wrong with it?”</p><p>“Nothing,” said Hermione.  “It was in fully working order.  I read the report.  <em>Priori Incantatem.”</em></p><p>“Meaning what, exactly?” asked Ginny, exasperated.  “Don’t go all Hidden on me.”</p><p>“I’m not,” said Hermione.  “<em>Priori Incantatem.</em>  Odson’s own wand had <em>Priori Incantatem</em>, so whatever he did with it could be traced back to him, if he was ever arrested.  But the metal wand didn’t.  <em>Priori Incantatem </em>doesn’t work on it.”</p><p>“Doesn’t it?  Why not?”</p><p>“That’s the question, isn’t it?  We don’t know.  But, obviously, a wand that somehow <em>doesn’t</em> have <em>Priori Incantatem </em>is a great Hidden weapon.  Even if it’s not as powerful.”</p><p>“So who made it?”</p><p>“We don’t know that either.  Somewhere around is a new wandmaker we don’t know about.  It’s not Beatrix Holombec, before you go there.  Like you, she’s not the concealing sort.”</p><p>“Yeah,” said Ginny, dryly. </p><p>“Ollivander is out of the game.  Gregorovich ditto.  And Holombecs are working like house-elves, turning out wands, importing all they can.”</p><p>“What about Beatrix’s sources?  Why couldn’t they be doing some on the side?”</p><p>“Beatrix doesn’t import entire wands.  Just the wood and the cores separately.  She controls the training of the wood, and <em>those</em> skills are rare, believe me.”</p><p>“But if Beatrix is the blabbermouth you say, won’t she have told somebody?”</p><p>“She swears not.  The Invisibles are on her case constantly, Legilimensing her the whole time.  I’m surprised she puts up with it, but she’s worried, too.  And she’s surrounded by shields everywhere she goes.  No, it’s nothing to do with Holombec, we’re sure.”</p><p>“There must be other wandmakers…”</p><p>“They’re born, not made, and they’re very rare.  Anyone – well, lots of people – can design a new spell, but training a wand to accept spells is really, really hard.  We’ve gone around the other countries, too, but no sign.  It looks like the Hidden have got themselves a wandmaker, who must have designed that metal wand of Odson’s, but they’re not going to tell anyone who it is, of course…   Listen…”  Hermione paused, uncomfortably.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Are you sure you’re up to all this?” Hermione asked in a rush.  “Being a head?  It’s a hell of a responsibility.  It’s not just about running a school, you know.”</p><p>“I know,” said Ginny. </p><p>“Have you met the First Minister yet?” Hermione asked.</p><p>Ginny nodded.  “At the Joan of Arc unveiling.  And he came and saw me earlier today.”</p><p>Hermione blinked.  “<em>Did</em> he?  It’s good to have him on your side.”</p><p>“I’m not sure about that,” said Ginny uncertainly. </p><p>“Meaning what?” demanded Hermione.</p><p>“Something he said,” said Ginny.  “He didn’t come here for a chat.  More to give a speech.”</p><p>“What speech?”</p><p>“Well, the usual stuff, I suppose.  For the most part.  Congrats, how I was going to work my hardest for the school, the responsibility.  But then he seemed to get stuck on responsibility.”</p><p>“Stuck how?” asked Hermione, puzzled.</p><p>“He said, we always protect children.  Something about it being an instinct.  And then he said, if anything happened, he would send all the help he could,” added Ginny, slowly.  “But that there might not be any help to send.”</p><p>Hermione’s expression was frozen.  “That’s possible,” she said, eventually.  “I simply don’t know.”</p><p>“And there was something else,” Ginny said hesitantly. </p><p>“What was that?” asked Hermione.</p><p>“He said, someone made a mistake, sending me here.”</p><p>“Someone?  What someone?”</p><p>“That’s all he said,” replied Ginny.  “But he must have been talking about the Hidden.  That <em>they</em> sent me here.”</p><p>Hermione shook her head in confusion.  “So who <em>did</em> send you?”</p><p>“Apolline,” said Ginny, slowly.  “Apolline Delacour.”</p><p> </p><p>She was obsessively tidying her desk late in the afternoon when she realised she had yet another visitor.  She looked up and was amazed to see Gosse. </p><p>He looked strangely out of place here, away from the studio that defined his life. </p><p>“Beatrix sent me to fetch you,” he said.  He sounded ill at ease, grumpy.  “You should have been home by now, she said.”</p><p>“Sorry,” said Ginny.  “Were you missing me too?”</p><p>He didn’t answer, but continued to gaze around her room. </p><p>“I’ve heard…” he started.  <em>Heard what?</em> she asked herself, nervously. </p><p>“I’ve heard you might need an art teacher,” he continued.  “Madame Allaire sent me an owl.”</p><p>“<em>You?</em>” she shot back in amazement.  “A <em>teacher</em>?”</p><p>He frowned.  “Why not?”</p><p>“I didn’t think you’d want to,” she said, defensively.  But she couldn’t stop herself adding: “And you’d have to get out of bed sometimes.”</p><p>His frown was now a scowl.   “I can do that,” he said.  “But you’ve probably got lots of candidates.”</p><p>“I’d appoint you in a second,” she said honestly.  “If I thought you’d like it.  And if Madame Allaire is recommending you, the job’s yours.”</p><p>His frowning expression didn’t change.  “She used to teach me,” he said.  “She wasn’t a great teacher, but she let me do what I wanted.  Which was paint.  I’d like to see the art room again,” he said then.</p><p>“Sure,” she said, although she was then nervous about the idea.  Gosse was a real artist; Was he going to rubbish all her pupils’ work?</p><p>They walked across to the new classrooms, and up the stairs to the art room.  She let him enter the room ahead of her, and he strolled around, looking at the benches, and paints, and the endless artworks that crowded the walls.  Rather a lot of them were of Ginny, with no clothes on.</p><p>“We should have done this,” Gosse said, staring at one of Pierre’s paintings of her, in pride of place in the middle of one glass wall.  “Life drawing, I mean.  It takes time to understand…”  He stopped at that elliptical point, turned and looked at her.  “I’d like the job,” he said simply.  “If you’ll have me.”</p><p>“Well, there’s an application process,” she said, with a sudden hunger.  “I think we should get onto that now.”</p><p>Gosse rolled his eyes, resignedly, but he didn’t resist when she took his hand and pulled him out of the room, downstairs and outside.  Hand in hand they walked across the bridge spanning the lake, Gosse ignoring her impatience, stopping from time to time to look around him. </p><p>When they reached the far side, she urged him towards the houses.  “Come and see my apartment,” she said.  </p><p>“Not yet,” he said.  “Let’s walk along the lake.”</p><p>She sighed noisily, but obligingly she turned, and they walked down the tree-lined path, behind the main <em>Choc</em> pavilion, and then onto the grass that lined the lake. </p><p>“Can we just sit?” he asked.  She was wearing a formal skirt, in cream, but she recklessly sat on the grass next to him anyway, and took his hand, while they gazed at the school buildings opposite, with the Great Cliff looming behind.  She turned to him then, and kissed him, and he took his eyes from the school and kissed her back. </p><p>“Wait,” she said eventually, breathlessly, beneath him now.  “Not here…”  She pushed him off her, stood quickly and pulled him to his feet.  She hurried him up the slope to the houses, along the narrow, cobbled lanes, until they reached her house, and then her apartment within.  She led him directly to the bedroom, and kissed him hungrily.</p><p>“About time,” said her own voice.</p><p>They broke apart.  Another Ginny was in the bed.  She was sitting up and climbing out, and she was naked.</p><p>“Let’s get these clothes off,” said the other Ginny.  She stepped behind Gosse and slid his jacket down his arms, and then she was reaching around him to undo his shirt.  He was looking at both of them in horror.</p><p>“It’s a long story,” said the Ginny in his arms, unsure now.  “A very long, long story…”</p><p>“I was warned,” he said.  “But perhaps I should have thought it through.  Knowing you…”</p><p>Hands were busily relieving him of his shoes, socks, shorts and then, very carefully, the rest.  The two kissed, with increasing passion, as the other Ginny circled around them and reached arms around her earlier self.  Ginny shed her shoes and pushed her arms back to allow her now-unbuttoned blouse to be removed.  Her lips and tongue were like a lifeline to Gosse, as the rest of her clothes were pulled off her.</p><p>“Look at these grass stains!” scolded the other Ginny as she busily picked up the discarded clothes and folded them tidily.  “And everything’s crumpled…”</p><p>“You don’t mind?” asked the Ginny who had his arms around her.  She didn’t mean the state of her clothes.</p><p>“It depends,” he said, as another pair of arms appeared around him and stroked his stomach, while their owner sighed with pleasure.</p><p>“On what?”</p><p>“You aren’t going to keep doing this, are you?” he asked.</p><p>“Only this time,” she promised. </p><p>“Oh,” he said.  “OK…”</p><p>“Next time, though,” said Ginny, as their lips neared and tantalised each other’s. “Next time, <em>you’re</em> going to be the one using the Time Shifter.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for staying with me!  Book 3 in my Ginny Weasley series is in progress, but doesn't have a name yet.  Any feedback would be welcome!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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